Dragon Age: A Whole New World
by Excisium
Summary: OC brought into Thedas from a far different world, trying to escape his own past (not self-insert, OC is not Inquisitor) F!Trevelyan was a regular troublemaker for her family, being sent to the Conclave to observe when things sort of... went to hell. Dialogue will stray from canon. Author's note at the end of ch.1. Rated T for language and violence. OC x Trevelyan
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the contents of Dragon Age, nor do I claim to. I own only mine own ideas._**

 ** _Also writing in retrospect from a few chapters ahead, this gets better once I get in the swing of things. so bear with me for the first few chapters while i get characterisation and stuff right. thanks_**

 **(edit: it appears in transferring from docs to , i lost my formatting. i'll be keeping my docs on FF from now on, so that shouldn't be a problem. I apologize if there was confusion)**

He awoke with a start, as one does when startled from a dream. As he looked around, he noted nothing that would give him reason to be alarmed at first glance. Still, his brows involuntarily furrowed as he observed his surroundings.

Trees of varying heights surrounded him, all with leaves the dark shade of green and bark only a shade lighter than mud. He realized he was currently sitting against one of these trees, as if he had decided to have a lie down and accidentally fallen asleep. Looking down, he sighed in relief upon the realization he wasn't naked. The clothes he had intended to wear still clung to him, which also meant he probably wasn't robbed. He reached a hand out and felt his pack, also packed full of his supplies.

He supposed that he had no way of knowing what would really happen upon entering the portal. It was fortunate he was still alive, even. That would've been ironic, he mused; curiosity killed the thousand year old immortal, as it were. For all the good that immortality had done him. He stood up, placing a gloved hand on the tree trunk to assist him, and heaved a deep breath.

'Well,' He spoke out loud, thinking that it was strange to hear his own voice shattering the silence, 'time to get moving, I... suppose.' Talking to himself too, nice.

Time to take stock of things he thought to himself, grabbing his pack. He took a quick peek inside, satisfied to find his rations and miscellaneous supplies all accounted for. Attached to the backpack was a quiver of arrows. Twenty-something. Twenty-six. He counted, affirming it with a nod to himself. He slung it over his long cloak, and reached for the bow resting against the trunk of the tree, also throwing it over his shoulder.

'Ah, a bow,' He stated needlessly as he picked it up, 'I should have a sword, shouldn't I?' He looked down, noticing no sheath attached to either hip on his belt. He reached for the back of his belt, turning in a circle as he did so, before grabbing the hilt, and smiling at the reassurance. Had he been sleeping on it? He'd probably feel it later.

He unsheathed the blade, inspecting it (though probably without cause) for any blemishes or imperfections. The sword was one-edged, and curved slightly. It had no guard of any kind; not a traditional sword. The hilt was familiar, having been crafted for him, to the length of a hand-and-a-half. Letters were etched into the base of the blade on either side in a runic language, and he translated them mentally; Bane of All Things. In a word, _Albitr._ A fittingly menacing name for a sword, but it meant more to him. This sword was the bane of his enemies, but it could destroy more than that; it destroyed lives, loves, hopes, dreams, futures, pasts. A bit grim, but some things needed to be, to ensure that weren't forgotten.

He patted his chest, finding four pouches, two of which held small throwing knives. The other two were empty. He frowned. Nothing he could do about it now.

'Well,' He again spoke, turning to look around, having decided he was fully prepared. 'Where the shit am I?'

He had traveled along the road he had fallen asleep next to for two days now. This was the first time he had stopped for proper rest, because his legs hurt. He wouldn't need to sleep for another... two or three days. He had yet to encounter anyone, which he had not yet decided was a good or a bad thing.

On the one hand, he still had no idea what world he was actually in. A world not so different to his own, for the scenery was quite similar, but most definitely not his world. Were he to find someone, he had no idea what he'd tell them. Oh, probably something like 'I'm a traveler, from a far off place,' but he couldn't ask them for directions because he didn't know where he could go. They could very well be hostile; bandits and the like. All in all, it was a confusing situation.

On the other hand, what if he had found himself in an empty world? He had caught glimpses of four legged creatures, and had heard and seen birds, but he couldn't very well talk to them, could he? He could, but that was the start of a trip to becoming a madman. He was already having conversations with himself. As of yet, he had no way to get back to his own world. The portal had done its purpose, but it seemed was not in a fixed location that connected both worlds. He could very well be trapped, the only sentient on a planet yet to develop more intelligent life. For an immortal, that was much worse than a death sentence. He could kill himself, for he wasn't invulnerable, he just didn't age, but that was a rather morbid thought.

'Hmph,' He grunted to himself and took another bite of his bread. He paused mid-chew when he thought he heard a faint rumbling down the road. He accelerated his chewing, stuffing his half-eaten bread in his pack, and threw the pack around his shoulders, as well as his bow. His sword was still around his waist, and he hadn't had anything else out. He ran into the treeline (which he was right next to) and hid behind a tree.

A perfectly reasonable reaction when hearing a strange rumbling sound in the wildneress, he thought. The rumbling did steadily get louder, and he thought it sounded like that of a wagon on the road - or perhaps that was just what he hoped he heard. He peered around the edge of the trunk. The road was straight, so it wasn't that difficult to at least catch of a glimpse of the source.

It was indeed a cart, steadily trudging along at a moderate pace. It appeared to just be a single wagon, and he could only see a single driver with two horses. Doesn't mean there's not guards hidden around. Ah, there was his paranoia. No, he continued to reason with himself, who would hide guards for a single wagon? You keep them in view, to deter bandits. Sound logic.

He prepared himself to step out into view before he realized that he could very well be seen as a bandit himself. He was wearing light armour, a long cloak with his hood up, and a mask. Not to mention the bow slung over his chest and the sword at the back of his waist. He pulled down the mask and the hood, running a hand through his now messy hair.

Yes, he thought sarcastically to himself, I look much friendlier now. Not to mention the lack of shaving, and I still have the weapons. Well, it wasn't like there was much he could do. He stepped out from behind the tree.

'Hello!' He greeted, smiling and waving and hoping he actually did seem friendly. Then a frown came across his face. Do we speak the same language? What if waving is construed as being hostile? Did I just challenge this man to a duel?

His worries were interrupted by the wagon coming to a halt a few dozen feet from him. He remembered to smile, and also to drop his hand in case it was a declaration of war.

Now that it was closer, he observed that the driver of the wagon looked much like him. Or, rather, much like his species. He wore the clothes of a commoner, and to him, looked like a working man. He was older, his hair as white as snow. He wore a bushy moustache, the most groomed part of him it seemed, and seemed to purse his lips while looking at him across the distance.

'Hello.' He spoke in a gravelly voice, and he managed not to audibly sigh in relief.

'I, ah, am a traveler. Not a bandit, I promise.' He beamed, using his hands to articulate his point. Yes, because stating 'I'm not a bandit' is most definitely trustworthy.'

'Huh.' The man grunted, but seemed to take him at his word. At the least, he didn't start his horses to gallop past him.

'I've been traveling for a few days now,' He continued, not stepping closer for fear of upsetting what may very well be his one chance at getting to civilization. Without walking, anyway. 'Where are you headed?'

The man observed him for several moments, raising a brow. He managed not to fidget under the scrutiny, then mentally berated himself; here he was over a thousand years old, uncomfortable because someone from another world, less than a fraction of his age, was staring at him. It was a bit of an odd situation, though.

'Markham.' He finally spoke. 'You're pretty well armed.' He noted, distrust sneaking into his voice.

He cursed his weapons mentally before speaking, 'Well, I'm in unfamiliar territory. Don't know the land you see, being a traveler and all. Forgive me for asking, for I know that you don't know me, but might I travel with you to Markham?'

The man, despite his steely disposition, seemed to actually be generous enough. 'Before you do, just know that all I'm carrying are books and stuff for academics. Nothing you can rob me for, not for any real money.' Still distrustful though, which was perfectly reasonable given their situation. Out on a road in the middle of the forest, one of them alone with a cart full of supplies, the other heavily armed.

'Perfectly fine. I mean, I don't actually want to rob you, I just don't like walking.' That was true enough. Now he approached the wagon, intending to get on it. 'Ah, what's your name?'

The man was still eyeing him with something now closer to curiosity, but answered nonetheless, 'Markas. Markas Dunshire.'

'A pleasure to meet you, Markas. My name is Atlas.'

Markas was not a conversational fellow. Oh, he seemed perfectly nice, but was still content for most of the rest of the ride (which was only a few hours, they arrived in Markham by sundown) to stay silent. Atlas was quite uncomfortable for the beginning of it, until he decided he should really stop caring.

They arrived at the city gates, where a paytoll was required. Atlas was momentarily filled with alarm before Markas, without prompting, offered Atlas as his 'protection', paying for his way inside, surprising him greatly.

'Thank you, Markas,' Atlas said quietly but genuinely once inside the gates. 'I er, don't have any money to pay you back. Far away land, you see. I hope that you don't mind that. I am unsure of how to repay your generosity.' Best to be polite about it.

Markas was silent for several moments as he directed the cart through the city, before bringing the horses to a halt. 'You're welcome. Now get off my wagon.' Classic Markas.

He opened his mouth to respond, before nodding once, and getting off. It's not like he could ask him for anything else.

He at least had achieved the first part of his goal; civilization. Now to figure out what his second goal should be and where it was.

People scuttled to and fro, each with their own purpose, blissfully (and likely purposefully) ignorant of each other's daily lives. Each seemed more or less of the same class, one's clothing seeming no more extravagant than someone else's. The middle class, then. He seemed to be a bit of an outlier, with his admittedly somewhat ornate light armour and cloak. At least he wasn't wearing his hood, or the mask.

The architecture was more refined than he had expected. He could see what was probably the higher class part of town, tall buildings of white stone, flags with an unfamiliar symbol flown down the sides of some of them. Off to the side, he could see the tops of large golden statues of armoured figures carrying some sort of staff, which seemed to denote entry to an important location of some kind. Perhaps the central Keep of the city.

'Excuse me,' He stopped the nearest person, a middle aged man with long brown hair and the makings of a beard. Said man turned to him, a wary expression on his face as his eyes flicked across Atlas' choice of wardrobe. 'Could you direct me to the nearest library?'

This seemed to confuse him even more. Mysterious, heavily armed, cloaked figures were supposed to ask for the nearest bar, not the library, after all. Nonetheless, he seemed to look past his confusion. Atlas flashed a friendly smile to help him along.

'Aye,' The man nodded. He pointed to a nearby staircase leading further into the city. 'If you wanted to, you could try and get into the Markham University. One of the biggest in Thedas, I'm sure you know. They hardly let anyone in unless you're some noble, but I happen to know of a man called Lethiel,' At this, he turned one-hundred-eighty degrees to point at another staircase, leading downward. 'He's a nice fellow, if a bit odd. Head down straight, there'll be a sign pointing left, follow it. There ye go.'

'Thank you, kind ser.' Atlas inclined his head, and the man seemed to carry the trace of a smile as he nodded, looked Atlas up and down again, then turned to continue his business.

People seem to be quite helpful. Perhaps it's because of my dashing good looks. Or perhaps I found a much nicer world than mine. These people seem happy enough.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

'Oh. Hello.' An owlish man peeked up from behind the cover of a book, glasses perched on his nose. He was a short man, possibly a full head shorter than Atlas (though Atlas was quite tall himself). Short cropped brown hair and a clean shaven face peered at him, brows furrowed and mouth pursed, an expression Atlas thought he might make a lot, judging by the lines of his face. He didn't seem too old, perhaps forty years, if his species' normal standards were anything to go by. He sat behind the counter, which also had a number of other books placed around.

'Hello,' Atlas answered back evenly, 'Are you Lethiel?'

'I am, yes. What can I do for you?' Lethiel looked at his book for a few seconds, before closing it and setting it on the counter in front of him, standing and placing both hands on the counter.

Atlas stepped into the shop proper, closing the door behind him and looking around. It was a library, all right; bookcases went far back into the shop, farther than it had looked from the outside. Each one was filled edge to edge with books of varying sizes, not seeming to be catalogued in any specific order, though he couldn't be sure. The odd table with a seat or two was also placed about, parchment, scrolls, and more books stacked atop them. The smell of old parchment, paper, and ink was familiar to him, and clung to the room like a coat. In this unfamiliar place, it brought him a small amount of comfort.

'I'd like some books.' He stated, eyes settling on Lethiel.

'Most do.' He nodded once before continuing, 'What kind?' Lethiel didn't seem to take notice of his apparel, as most did, instead preferring to keep his owlish gaze on his face.

'History,' He elaborated, 'Any history you have. Er, early history, modern history. Perhaps a general summary of the past, you know.' Again Atlas began speaking with his hands, making indistinct gestures as he spoke.

'History,' Lethiel pursed his lips once more and looked to the side, thinking to himself. 'I have a few things.' He turned and walked into the large stacks of books, 'Take a seat!' Lethiel called back.

'Well. An amicable fellow.' Atlas said quietly to himself, then walked over to the nearest table, taking a few minutes to disarm himself and set his things beside the table.

Lethiel returned, carrying a stack of books so high he almost couldn't see over them to walk back to the table. With a grunt, he set them all down. 'On the very bottom there is the History of the Chantry, four chapters, bit of propaganda, above it is the Tale of the First Blight,' Sounds ominous, he interrupted mentally, 'then you have the Reign of the Tevinter Imperium,' Also ominous, he thought, 'five chapters, including the most recent one. Oh, and there's also The Game of Orlais on the top. That should get you started. I'll be back at the counter if you need anything.'

Well, he was thorough. 'get started'? This should last him for a while.

'It's what I never get about the gods of so many religions,' Atlas continued his rant, Lethiel sat across from him, attention focused on his own book, but also listening. 'They give their creations free will, and then get angry whenever they don't do what they want. I mean, if the Maker is all powerful, then he could undo whatever it is these Old Gods have done - he could undo the Old Gods in the first place, actually. Why did he allow them to exist, if he got so angry at what they did. Then he got so angry he put them to sleep for eternity. Except it wasn't eternity,' At this, he put down the History of the Chantry, Chapter 1, and picked up Tale of the First Blight, opening it and pointing to something random on the random page he had turned to, 'and this Old God awoke, because the Kingdom of the Maker, in heaven, was broken into. Isn't heaven meant to be impenetrable? And so, the Blight was unleashed. And there've been four since, one not too long ago,' He neglected to mention that he had never heard of a Blight until a few hours ago, and was personally glad. He had heard of - and once, seen something like it, and wouldn't have looked forward to coming into this world on the dawn of a Blight.

For all his complaining, still he was fascinated by this new history. It was almost exactly like reading a story. Someone could probably make quite a few novels of this. Perhaps even event something completely new, using this as a baseline.

'Yeah, well, historians and members of the Chantry alike have debated the history of... well, the Chantry for hundreds of years, and they'll debate it for hundreds more.' Lethiel responded, not looking up from his book.

'Do you believe in the Maker?'

'Do I practice the Chant? No.'

'Ah, but that's not what I asked. Do you believe in the Maker?'

Lethiel sighed, but after a moment responded, 'Not as he's depicted in those books.'

Atlas pursed his lips, then nodded. 'Fair enough.'

'Do you?' Lethiel looked up as he asked the question.

'Oh, er, no. Not the Maker.' Atlas took a moment to realize what Lethiel was asking of him.

Lethiel's brow furrowed. 'The Elven gods, then? Like the Dalish. You don't have the ears for it. You must believe in something.'

Now it was Atlas' turn to furrow his brow in confusion. 'The Dalish? Who are they?'

'You don't know who the Dalish are? Where have you been traveling?' The Dalish, it seemed were common knowledge. Bit of an odd name, he thought.

'Well, if you must know, I come from across the seas. A large island. This is all new territory for me - it's why I asked for the history books.'

At this, Lethiel leaned forward, even setting his book down. 'Really? That's amazing. I've never heard of any islands to the sea. What is the name of your... territory?' He seemed genuinely interested. It made sense, since he owned a large and extensive bookshop for him to be curious on things such as this.

Atlas, however, had only just come up with this idea; from what little he knew of their geography, Thedas was the main landmass and a native was a Thedosian. There were around ten countries (or at least ten things that could be considered one). Currently, he was in the Free Marches, a confederation of city states in the East. As such, he had to come up with a convinceable lie, and the best way to do that was to start with the truth.

'Erithan. The Erithan Isles.' Erithan was the name of his birth country. It was by no standards an island, however.

'Interesting - wait, you say you've never been here before? How do you speak the Common tongue? I can't imagine it's common on the Erithan Isles.'

'Oh, well, we do trade with... with Rivain, and Antiva.' A lie, but it also meant he had some idea of where these Erithan Isles should be, even if it was because he had accidentally said so. 'Requires a common language. Thus, Common. I don't know when we first learned the language, however.'

Lethiel made a 'hm' noise equivalent to 'Interesting,' and pulled a face, then nodded.

'You'll have to tell me more sometime.'

'I think I'll get the chance. I'll probably be staying in Markham for a while.'

'Oh, how long?'

'I have no idea. Do you have any idea somewhere I could sleep?'

Time passed slowly, which was saying something for an immortal. He had indeed stayed in Kirkwall for several months, nearing a year. Lethiel had allowed him to stay at the library in exchange for protecting it, having noticed the weapons he carried. It was a trivial task, considering that a library was one of the last places people ever considered to rob, and Markham was also a more cultured place, not prone to things such as gangs or any sort of organized crime. At least, not at high levels.

Atlas had devoured much of the contents of the library, spending most, if not all of his days, reading. For someone who needed to sleep less than half as often as these humans did, it was no wonder that, towards the end of his long stay, he had begun to run out of entertaining material. Oh, sure, he was interested in learning the history and culture of the people here, but it was so hard to find an author who could write those things without seemingly incredibly droll.

He had expressed outrage on the occasion he learned about the Dalish and their predicament, as well as the City Elves. He also continued to nitpick at the Chantry and their tendencies, especially when it came to mages.

At first, he was both surprised and happy when he found out magic existed. That was until he found that, in recent times, mages had been shackled and ostracized. 'Circles' they called them. It was a travesty.

He couldn't use most of his magic. His people were naturally magical, not so dissimilar from Elves in the past of Thedas (the thought of them and the Chantry's continued prejudice against them also plucked a chord of more than annoyance) and, as one of their immortals, that had passed to him. He had tested his abilities on more than one occasion, but found that most of his offensive magic (fire, lightning, telekinesis) didn't work.

He had a hypothesis on why this was so, though he had no way of testing it, so it was really just a theory. He knew when he had found and studied the portal in his world that it lead to an entire different universe, the existence of which scientists of his species had speculated about for some time. Since he was indeed a being of another universe, then it stood to reason that he was never actually meant to enter this universe, and that the magic he used was native to his own, and only his own. It brought up more questions about the existence of the portal, ones he hadn't taken the time to try and even ask, let alone answer before taking the leap.

He could, however, affect himself. So far he had been able to teleport short distances, render himself invisible, and heal very minor injuries (he lived in a library at the moment, so papercuts were the largest of his worries, but it'd probably work on larger injuries. Hopefully he wouldn't have to test it). All of them tired him out much quicker than any other activity, likely because he was the source of his own magic. It was fortunate that he had never been just a mage, or he'd be mostly defenseless.

He knew there was a Circle in Markham, and upon learning this he had almost marched up there himself, although Lethiel had managed to talk him out of it. There wasn't much that could be done anyway, for recently, Mage-Templar relations had plummeted. There was talk of rebellion; the Battle of White Spite was the key example, and a group called the Seekers had ended the Nevarran Accord, a treatise signed hundreds of years ago which meant the Templars, Seekers, and the Circles were no longer under Chantry jurisdiction.

The Chantry was crumbling. He almost thought it a good thing, but he knew from all he had read that without the Chantry unifying all of Thedas, chaos would erupt, not to mention the Mages and Templars warring it out. And so the Divine, the leader of the Chantry (Bit of a pompous title, he thought) had called a peace summit, at a place called the Temple of Sacred Ashes. This particular Divine, it seemed, was rational.

And so Atlas found himself at his usual table that now belonged to him in all but name, looking at a map of the Frostback Mountains with the Temple marked on it, and was slowly convincing himself that traveling there would be a good idea. There were a few problems with this idea.

The extent of traveling he had actually done in Thedas was a two day trip on a road, only to be picked up by a kind man named Markas (he had unfortunately not seen Markas since he had been dropped off in this district) so he had, to put it bluntly, not a lot of experience. His only guide would be the maps.

Second, was Lethiel. In his time in Markham, and the library, Lethiel had become a good friend, matching his odd habits and tendencies tit for tat, and tolerating (if not actively encouraging) his line of questions, which to any other, would be nothing more than bizarre, even to a far traveler. For the average Thedosian, Thedas was the entire world. They didn't consider the possibility of another landmass across the sea, no matter how small. He had so far been quite lucky in his company. Lethiel had grown accustomed to his presence, and vice versa. Then again, it was just a peace summit, which meant the outcome was intended to be peace, so he'd likely return. There was also no guarantee he'd even gain access inside, and while he was certain he could sneak inside, it might not perhaps be the best idea unless he could accurately... masquerade as someone, say, a third party meant to guard and overlook the negotiations. The perfect cover! Unless he was the only one there - except that wouldn't make any sense, to rely on the Mages and Templars to keep the peace based on their honor. According to his studies, the two wouldn't know peace if it hit them in the face with a hundred page treaty. Which, really, didn't bode well for the peace talks, but only time would tell.

'Leafy!' He called across the library. "Leafy" was a nickname he had adopted because of how similar "Lethiel" sounded to "Leaf".

'Stop calling me that,' Leafy hadn't liked it very much. Classic Leafy.

'I'm going out.' With this, he stood up.

'Oh? Where to?'

Atlas looked back down to the map to make sure he had the name, 'Er, the Temple of Sacred Ashes,'

Lethiel stopped what he was doing (sorting books, from the looks of it) to look at Atlas, pursed his lips, nodded once, went back to his books, before frowning and looking back to Atlas. 'Why?'

'To see the peace summit, of course.' Atlas passed it off as a perfectly normal decision, going through two countries to reach the peace summit of opposing organizations for no reason other than curiosity. He had never been able to resist inserting himself into events, after all.

Lethiel nodded again, continuing to frown. 'How long will you be gone, then?'

'I haven't the faintest idea,' He looked back down to his notes, 'The summit is supposed to begin soon, though I'm not when exactly. But I must leave soon, if I'm to make it on time.'

'Why is that you're wanting to go?'

'Oh, curiosity. It'll be an absolute blast.' Lethiel's frown deepened, but Atlas decided not to elaborate.

'Well I... I suppose I can't stop you. You'll come back, though?'

'Fear not, my good Leafy. I'll return before long.' Atlas beamed and nodded as if in reassurance.

In retrospect, it had, unfortunately, been 'an absolute blast'.

It had started off well. He had gone to find a boat that would take him across the Waking Sea, only to find people didn't like to do those things for free. As a result, he snuck aboard one, hiding below decks for the few days the trip took (he hadn't even needed to use his magic, though it's not like he could've simply gone invisible for days on end).

Once he had gotten aboard land, he consulted the maps to make the trip proper into the Frostback mountains.

To make a long, boring trip short, nothing happened, really. He arrived off of the main road, having avoided groups of Templars and Mages traveling, which meant he was more or less on time. He was kneeling, taking a quick breather ontop of a small hill, looking at the Temple of Sacred Ashes from afar, his first view of it.

It was quite grand, situated atop a small plateau. Large statues, similar to those found in Markham, were at the end of the small valley through which the main bulk of the Templars and Mages were walking - or marching, in the Templar's case. He knew nothing of Thedosian architecture, so he didn't know what to make of the stonework, only that he knew it was old. Ancient, even.

He had just begun to stand up to survey the area and find a way in, when a fireball erupted from the center of the Temple. The fireball grew into an inferno, rising hundreds of feet into the area, and a pulse of green emerald energy followed it, rushing outward in all directions. He was barely able to react before the pulse reached him, throwing him into the air and several feet backward. He landed with a grunt, an expression of absolute confusion on his face as he attempted to process what just happened.

'Ah, liis,' He muttured a curse word in his own language, before heaving himself upward, rolling his shoulders. It seemed he had landed on his pack, smushing most things inside. He'd worry about that later.

He continued onward down the slope of the hill, still a bit dazed. He noticed, towards the valley, the bodies of several Templars and Mages, strewn about, and he had no idea whether they were alive or not. He debated helping them before he looked forward again and noticed the result of the explosion.

A cascading stream of energy, a similar colour as the pulse which had thrown him off his feet earlier, ascended into the sky, peaking in a massive... wound in the sky. Bolts of radiant, erratic green lightning flashed, thunder accompanying them. Rocks, bits of land, floated around the apex of the wound, and storm clouds surrounded it, circling it as though preparing to develop into a hurricane. He watched with a mix of morbid curiosity and fascinated awe. It possessed a dark beauty. He then remembered that it was born of an explosion, an explosion which destroyed an entire temple, which was in turn filled with people.

'Liis.' He cursed again and ran sprinted forward. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd do at this point, but he'd decide that when he got there.

His journey forward was interrupted by an object enveloped in green glow crashed downward, apparently from the wound in the sky, towards him. It carried with it a high pitched whistling, and Atlas quickly diverted his current route forward, diving to the side before it crushed him.

The object destroyed some of the land, kicking about dirt and snow, and when Atlas looked at where it should have been, he found no actual object, but a pair of ghastly figures, not green, but red like lava. They seemed connected to the grown like a slug, but then leaned forward, towards him, sliding across the ground. Then he noticed they had claws, and their eyes, white spots on the top of their figure, were looking directly at him. Parts of them pulsed and glowed orange.

Atlas stood up quickly, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow with practiced ease, aiming at the creature on the right and firing. The arrow hit it directly in its face, fortunately, but all it did was hiss and screech into the air, which was not so fortunate. As a result, he threw his bow to the ground and unhooked his quiver, putting it beside the bow so as to not hinder him. He drew his sword from its sheath, a quiet hiss accompanying it.

'I don't suppose you can be reasoned with?' He tried talking to it, holding his blade in front of him. The only response was an even louder screech, and Atlas nodded to himself, 'Thought not.'

A good offense was the best defense, as they say, and so Atlas rushed forward, leading with a jumping slash across what he could only assume was the creature's chest. He followed through, bringing the blade back around to decapitate it. The creature wheezed and turned into ash.

He had no time to mull over this as the next one was upon him. He stepped back, being much faster than this odd slug-like creature, and then thrust his sword into its chest. Again it shrieked and dissipated into nothing.

He was about to begin talking to himself about what a weird situation he was in when he was hit in the chest by... something, taking his breath away and forcing him to stretch his arms out wildly to find his balance. He was hit again, this time throwing him to the ground. A quick glance to his chest told him that it wasn't arrows, and as he looked up he spotted a small sphere of green energy heading towards him, and he rolled to the side.

Toward the trees were two spectral, ethereal, floating creatures, unlike the ones he had just fought. They seemed to possess a torso, heads, arms, and hands, but no legs, instead replaced by a smoky substance which clung to every part of it. They hurled another 'bolt' at him, and he scurried to his feet to avoid it.

Another screech heralded the arrival of more malevolent creature, these similar in form to the first ones he had fought, but a sickly grey and wearing some sort of brown harnesses. They too possessed claws with which to try and gut him.

He'd try and run, but there wasn't exactly a place to go, and after several straight days of walking (he'd not rested, in order to ensure he got to the Conclave on time) he was tired. And yet, he had little choice.

The creatures were sluggish and not very intelligent, opting to try and fight him head on instead of employing any kind of tactics. He fought, and they died quickly, and more came. He continued moving as he fought towards the Temple, in an attempt to find a moment of refuge, but the injuries he sustained by fighting so many, minor as they were, combined with his near exhaustion had beun to take their toll.

It was only after he had decapitated another grey-skinned creature that someone else showed up. An arrow flew and found its mark in one of the floating ethereal beings that were throwing things at him. Surprised, he looked to find its owner and saw several lightly armoured individuals, armed and at the ready, descending upon his area. Unfortunately, this distraction allowed another floating creature to get revenge for its... comrade? Do they have those? He felt pain blossom across the right side of his face and lost his balance before finally closing his eyes and falling to the ground.

 **So! There'll be a long note incoming.**

 **Firstly, no, Atlas is not dead. Secondly, yes, you will find out more about him, and questions like why he's immortal, where he comes from, why he came to this land, is he hot (i'll tell you now, it's yes), and will he find love (also yes) will be answered.**

 **Atlas is, as you may have guessed, an OC, and an idea of using him for Dragon Age: Inquisition, one of my favorite games next to of course the others in the series, has been in my head for a while. He is /not/ the Inquisitor. This isn't my attempt to put an OC as /the/ main character of the game. The Inquisitor will be a female Trevelyan, and she'll be introduced in the next chapter.**

 **I highly doubt the dialogue, except for some essential parts (e.g. companion quests, main story points, etc.) will remain the same. In fact, I don't plan for it to, for the most part. Aside from the fact that I'm introducing another main character with no prewritten dialogue, I don't want to have to take the time to meticulously research every line of dialogue for every scene, as I'll probably lose my passion for it and get bored, and we don't want that.**

 **Perhaps most importantly: as of writing this note, I don't know if I'll ever publish this or not. I hope I do, because right now, it's fun and I want to see it to its end, but I have an unfortunate habit of leaving projects unfinished, because I lose my drive for the subject, and move on to another. I don't do it intentionally, it really just happens. Long term writing and planning have never been my strong suit. This is largely therapeutic for me, and a way to... well, you know how it goes when you write fanfiction. Whatever you want to happen, can happen.**

 **I hope, if you read this, you enjoy it. I really do. If you have criticism, tell me/leave a review. If you have suggestions or ideas, leave a review or PM me if you like. If you have general complaints or conversely, compliments, tell me! I'd love to discuss things with any one of you, and hear your opinion about how I write things, good or bad. Unless you're just doing it to be a twat. Then you can go be a twat somewhere else.**

 **I don't have any sort of education in English, aside from the general kind everyone has to get. So, throw parallel structure out the window, for one, because I can never remember to enforce it upon myself. This is all, as I mentioned, a therapeutic experience, and a bit of an exercise to see how well I can write dialogue, combat, stories in general, emotions, characters, and later, romance (wink wink).**

 **If I've forgotten anything, I'll add it in later. Now we get onto some slightly different stuff.**

 **I'm a very visual person, and even if I know what I want things to look like in my head, I always like to try and find an actual reference image. As such, I've chosen a few faceclaims for certain characters.**

 **Lethiel is Martin Freeman/Bilbo. There was never any question of who I wanted Lethiel to be/act like when I thought of him, and I should also mention that Lethiel will return later down the line, he's not just a one and done character because I like him too much.**

 **Fem Trevelyan's faceclaim is Allison Scagliotti, kind of how she appears in Warehouse 13 but with longer hair. (side note: Warehouse 13 is an absolutely fantastic show, you should go watch it)**

 **Atlas doesn't have an actual person as a faceclaim, rather someone I've created in another program. I can't link images here, so if you want to see what he looks like, PM me.**

 **Atlas' sword is very similar to the Mirkwood infantry sword. Google that if you don't know what it looks like.**

 **I imagine Atlas' armour to be the same as the Rogue/Thief in the ESO cinematic trailers. The one with the mask, bow, and cloak, and such.**

 **I think that's all for now. Sorry for the long note, just needed to explain some things!**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Exci**


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke quite uncomfortably, a dull ache spreading throughout her body, and she couldn't really pin it down to one spot. Her face involuntarily scrunched up and she tried to reach up to massage her forehead but was stopped halfway by... something.

She opened her eyes, squinting past the increasing throbbing in her head, and noticed that she was manacled. That was new. When did that happen? Her confusion and alarm were furthered when she looked up to survey the room around her and was met with drawn swords.

The uniforms her captors - for she must have been captured, she was a troublemaker but never a lawbreaker - wore were unfamiliar to her, but they all wore the same. She tried to think it through logically in her head, but she was having quite a difficult time when it felt like she was simultaneously being hit with a hammer.

She was saved from the torture of thought by the door opening, at which point she was also probably condemned again because the two who walked in did not seem the friendliest of sorts, both walking towards her with purpose and anger in their stride. Upon their entry, the four soldiers sheathed their blades.

The one who reached her first intimidated her more than the one behind. Her first observation was that her features were chiseled out of stone. She wore armour, a sword at her hip and shield on her back, and the metal plate on her chest had a sunburst emblazoned on it.

'Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now.' Well, right to it then. It was more a statement than a question as if daring her to try and prove her innocence. Wait, innocence? Innocence from what?

'What?' She voiced her confusion, eyes moving around and trying to comprehend what was going on and failing miserably.

'The conclave is destroyed. Everyone is dead. Except for _you.'_ She pointed an accusatory finger.

The Conclave! That's where she had been. Her headache was slowly but surely beginning to subside, though her hands continued to ache which she attributed to the manacles. But... everyone was dead? That wasn't possible.

'That's not possible,' She repeated her thought out loud. Surely this was some cruel joke. Perhaps she really had been abducted, and her captors were simply trying to confuse her. Oh, if they just gave her a blade then there would be no confusion at all, just -

'Then explain this,' The hard woman with a harder jawline (seriously, it could cut stone) reached forward, grabbing her left arm by the manacle and lifting it up for her to see. There, on her hand like a scar, was a glowing, jagged line, which emitted a faint green glow.

Her confusion deepened, 'I... what?'

The other woman, whom she had ignored in favor of the much more intimidating one, stepped in, placing a hand on the first woman's shoulder and pulled her back. The first woman released her hold on her, but still, she stared at her hand

'All you're doing is confusing her, Cassandra,' She looked up upon hearing the strange woman's name, 'We need her.'

This 'Cassandra' opted to glare daggers at her, and she averted her gaze to the ground, or the rest of the room, anything else, really.

'So...' She cleared her throat, 'What happens now?' She took the chance to look upward, though more towards the second, less violent woman, and not Cassandra.

'Do you remember what happened? Anything from the Conclave?' The second woman questioned, her voice much softer. Why didn't she do the interrogating?

'Not, uh... not particularly,' She frowned, trying to focus past the dull twinge, 'I remember... a woman.'

'A woman?' Did she sound... hopeful?

'Go to the forward camp, Leliana,' Ah, there was her name, 'I will show her.' That sounded ominous

The manacles were removed from their chains to the ground, though she was still bound at the wrists and she was stood up, though she almost fell right away. Fortunately, a nearby guard caught her. She nodded her thanks, still entirely unsure of the situation.

She brought her hands up to shield her eyes upon being exposed to the outside. When she lowered them and looked up, she couldn't help the gasp, and it was all she could do to resist saying 'Oh, shit' out loud.

'Hmph,' She heard Cassandra mutter, and when she looked, she saw her cast a disapproving look. Oh. Maybe she had said it out loud.

'What is that?' She had more to worry about than Cassandra's disapproval, like the giant hole in the damn sky.

'We call it the Breach. It came from the explosion at the Conclave.'

'The... explosion? I wasn't aware explosions could create anything.' Her sarcasm was laced with actual awe and belied her fears.

'This one did.'

She had seemed about to continue, which was unfortunate because at that moment all she felt was pain arcing up her arm like electricity, forcing her to her knees as she yelped and clutched her left hand - the one with the mark - as said mark flared brightly, in time with the pain she felt.

'The Breach is expanding and so is that mark on your hand. It's killing you.' Cassandra stated bluntly, kneeling down in front of her. She met her gaze, a grimace etched on her features. 'We think we can use the mark to stop the Breach.'

'So what you're saying is...' She heaved a sigh as the intense pain faded before continuing, 'I don't have a choice.'

'None of us do.' Cassandra offered her hand, and she took it, pulling her to her feet. She took the moment to notice that Cassandra stood several inches taller than herself, herself being at a modest height of 5'7.

'Your name,' Cassandra continued, 'It is Eden, is it not? Eden Trevelyan?'

'Yes,' She stated, 'It is.' It was no surprise she was recognized, being the youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan. She shouldn't be bitter about that fact, but for some reason, she felt a twinge of annoyance when she thought about it. Or maybe that was the headache.

Cassandra led her through the camp, which was likely Haven, now that she thought about it. Angry and hateful glares were thrown at her, much more than she was used to. She kept her eyes on Cassandra's back as she was lead through Haven.

'The people deem you responsible for Divine Justinia's death. They - _we_ grieve her loss. She was our best hope for peace between the Mages and Templars, and now many of them are dead. We lash out, but we must calm ourselves. Like She did.' Towards the end, it sounded as though Cassandra was trying to convince herself instead of Eden.

They reached a gate, at which point Cassandra turned and took out a dagger, and Eden momentarily lost all hope for her continued survival as Cassandra took a step forward, but held in a sigh of relief when all she did was cut through her bindings. She flexed her wrists, wishing she held a sword in one of them.

'Your mark should be tested on something smaller.' She turned and the wooden doors opened out onto a bridge, which lead to another door, which in turn lead to the mountains, probably towards the Temple - or what was left of it.

'Why did I survive the blast? _How_ did I survive the blast?' As they began jogging, Eden spoke up.

Cassandra answered over her shoulder, 'They say you... stepped out of a rift. A rift is a smaller breach, closer to the ground. A woman was behind you, but then you fell unconscious.'

''They'?'

'Inquisition soldiers.' Oh. The Inquisition. She had heard of their reformation but hadn't paid too much attention to current events, honestly. It was a topic for another day. Assuming they made it that far.

They reached another bridge shortly thereafter, and things were going quite well until something erupted out of the Breach, sailing through the air at high speeds, aimed straight for them. It didn't hit _them_ specifically, rather the bridge in front of them, which collapsed, throwing them to the ground below quite violently. She looked up from her prone position to find some sort of demon on the opposite end of the frozen pond they had landed on.

'Stay behind me!' Cassandra drew her sword and shield, moving quickly and holding both in a traditional guard as she continued forward to confront the demon.

Eden quickly pushed herself upward and looked to her right in alarm when she heard a loud hiss, to be met with another demon several feet away. 'Shit.' She muttered and turned back to run.

Very fortunate for her that a few crates had fallen off the bridge as well, crates that seemed to be filled with weapons, and lo and behold, the Maker must be looking after her (she scoffed in her head at the thought) because a sword and shield lay there, ready for the taking. She dived toward them, scooping them up and throwing the shield buckler around her arm. She turned to face the demon, much more confident now that she was armed, and moved forward, shield first.

The demon swiped towards her, and she raised the shield, rewarded by a _thunk_ sound as claws met metal. She then struck out with her blade, point first and was met with little resistance as the sword sunk into the demon's chest. It hissed before falling back and sort of dissipating. That was... admittedly much simpler than she had thought it'd be.

She turned over to where Cassandra should be to find that she had also dealt with her demon, and was now approaching Eden with her sword. 'It's over,' She said hurriedly, referring to the skirmish.

Cassandra, however, was having none of it. 'Drop your weapon. _Now.'_ She added forcefully.

'I was attacked by a demon! Do you really want me to die that much?' She responded in her defense.

'You don't need to fight.' She persisted, which was quite a lame defense.

'I'm sure the demons would agree with you.'

This seemed to get through to her, because she sighed, before dropping her sword. 'You are right. I cannot protect you forever.' She sheathed her sword, and Eden did the same. 'I should remember you did not try to run.' Joy, she got a few 'good girl' points, then.

They continued through the valley at a moderate pace, which increased when they heard yelling and sounds of battle ahead. They had reached some stone ruins, and a group of Inquisition soldiers, a bald-headed Elven mage, a dwarf with some very strange contraption in his hands (it looked big when he held it), and a cloaked figure with a curved sword. Oh, and demons. Can't forget those. They seemed centered around a ball of glowing green energy in the air, not so dissimilar from the giant breach in the sky.

The fighting was short, for they outnumbered the demons greatly, and the three strangers seemed particularly adept at killing them. Occasionally, the floating orb would spit another demon out, though they killed those too.

'Quickly, before more come through!' The bald elf grabbed her wrist (it seemed to be a popular activity these days) and pointed it towards the rift, at which point a flowing green arc appeared and connected her hand to the orb. Her entire arm tingled uncomfortably though not painfully, until the burst and disappeared. The elf quickly let go of her arm.

'Well. That was... kind of cool, actually.' She remarked, staring at her hand.

'That's what I said!' The cloaked figure pulled down his hood and she did a double take upon seeing his face. He was attractive. Like, really attractive, and she had met royalty. She knew what attractive was. His features were almost as chiseled as Cassandra's, strong features accompanied by a half smirk. She met his gaze, noticing (for they were not far away) that they were mostly brown, with some blue in the middle. Sandy hair fell over the left side of his face, a bit unkempt, which made sense because they had just been fighting several demons. A small scar passed through the outer corner of his right eye.

She managed to tear her gaze away from this attractive man to look at the elf. 'What did you do?'

'I did nothing. The credit is yours,' He gestured to her, but mostly to her hand.

'You mean this,' She raised said hand up for clarification.

'Whatever magic created the Breach also created the mark on your hand. I theorized that the mark might also be able to close a rift. It seems I was correct.' He went through his reasoning calmly and matter-of-factly, leaning on his staff as he did so.

'So...' She began but was interrupted, perhaps not intentionally, by Cassandra.

'It could also close the Breach, then.'

'Oh, good, and here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever.' A rugged male voice stated from behind them. She turned to see the dwarf she had seen earlier with what she now recognized as a strange crossbow strapped across his back. The coat he wore was opened several buttons from the top, revealing some admittedly impressive chest hair. Did he groom it? 'Varric Tethras; rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.' He shot a grin directed at Cassandra, whom Eden could practically feel annoyance radiating off of.

'That's a nice crossbow,' She said honestly. It was.

'Isn't she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together,' He looked fondly over his shoulder at the said crossbow. Wait, did he...

'You named your crossbow Bianca?' She asked, both curious and amused.

'Of course. And she'll be great company in the valley.'

'Absolutely not,' Cassandra spoke up. 'You... I'll get to you in a minute,' She pointed at Varric, before turning to the handsome stranger, who, upon noticing the attention, smiled nervously, eyes widening in alarm. 'You were supposed to be under guard back at Haven, under investigating for your involvement.' Oh, so the handsome stranger might be the handsome murderer? Shame. She couldn't say that it did too much to deter her attraction to him, as shallow as it was.

'Funny thing, that,' He began, his voice a smooth baritone, 'I had a talk with your guards, and I assured them that I couldn't have possibly been involved with this incident and that I'd be much better use out here.' He talked with his hands, making indistinct gestures to their environment. 'I like to think I was right, considering I did kill several demons just then, and because your men _found_ me fighting demons.' Maybe he wasn't the murderer; her shallow convictions were saved.

Cassandra seemed about to retort before Varric cut her off, 'Have you actually been in the Valley, Seeker? Your men aren't in control anymore. You're gonna need us.' At this, the man seemed to smile and nod in agreement.

'I - you - it - ugh.' Cassandra made several noises in her attempt to form a complete sentence, before resorting to groaning in annoyance, which was apparently her conceding the point.

'I am Solas,' The bald Elf spoke up, 'I am pleased to see you still live.' Bit of an odd way to greet someone you just met, but she wasn't entirely versed in Elven culture, so she just nodded once.

'He means, "I kept that mark from killing you while you slept",' Varric clarified.

That made more sense. 'Oh. Then, thank you.' She said earnestly.

'Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you.' He was kind of morbid, wasn't he? Blunt, though, which she liked. He turned to Cassandra, 'Cassandra, you should know, the magic here is unlike any I've ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage; indeed, I find it hard to imagine _any_ mage wielding such power.'

'Understood. We need to get to the forward camp,' She started towards the valley.

'Oh, I'm Atlas. As well,' Handsome Stranger flashed a smile.

'I'm Eden,' She responded after a moment, remembering she hadn't said that yet.

'A pleasure,' He continued beaming.

'There'll be time to flirt later.' Varric said though he was obviously amused by his tone of voice. Flirting? That wasn't flirting, that was... friendly talking. They had just met.

Atlas just smirked and turned away. Taking a deep breath, Eden followed.

On any other day, fighting demons coming down from a hole in the sky would have been highly irregular, not to mention terrifying. After a short while, however, it only got tedious. Against the five of them, all seeming seasoned fighters (she grudgingly admitted that she probably didn't have as much experience as these people), cutting down a few demons at a time was an easy job. With four people fighting beside her, Eden was faring quite well.

They came upon another rift in front of a door leading to another bridge, and a few soldiers guarding the barricades keeping demons at bay. It was relatively easy to come by and stab the demons in the back. She almost felt bad doing it, but it's not like they had any honor.

'The rift is gone. Open the gate!' Cassandra called out, and one of the soldiers scurried to obey. The bridge was a welcome reprieve from the fighting, but as she looked to the far end, she noticed two figures, hunched over a table and engaged in a heated conversation.

As she and the party walked closer, she noticed that one of the two was Leliana, and she turned to look at them as they approached. The other was a man adorned in Chantry robes, and she could practically feel the sneer he directed at her, looking down on her as if he was on a balcony above them and not right in front of her.

'Chancellor Roderick,' She began, sounding a bit exasperated, 'This is-'

'I _know_ who she is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux, where she will face execution.' "of the Chantry", she noted, which was odd, considering the Chantry was a bit screwed at the moment. She decided, quite rightfully, she thought, that this 'Roderick' was a twat.

'Order _me?'_ Cassandra seemed to think the same, judging by how offended she sounded. 'You're a glorified clerk! A-' She seemed to be about to say something worse, before Roderick decided to respond.

'And you're a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.' She bet he would've put his hands on his hips if he thought it wasn't undignified.

'We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.' Leliana retorted quietly.

'Justinia is dead!' He said brusquely, which did nothing to endear him to Leliana, judging by her grimace.

'So, what I'm getting is, none of you are in charge.' She pursed her lips and looked at everyone.

'You killed everyone who was in charge!' Roderick pointed an accusatory finger at her - that was getting to be popular as well.

'There's no evidence of that. I could've done it, for all you know.' Atlas spoke up in her defense. Sort of. As everyone turned to look at him, he quickly amended, 'I mean, I didn't. But I could've. But I didn't. My point is, anyone could've.' He cleared his throat.

Cassandra looked at him for a few moments before deciding to ignore what was said, 'We can still do this. We can... charge forward, straight to the rift. It's the quickest path.'

'But not the safest,' Leliana said, 'We can go through the mountain pass, and send our forces in as a distraction.'

'We lost an entire squad up there,' responded Cassandra.

Eden's mark flared and she grabbed her wrist as the pain, not as intense as before but still there, shot up her arm.

'What do you think we should do?' It took Eden several moments to realize Leliana was speaking to _her._

'What? You're asking me what I think?' She was genuinely confused. Just a minute ago they had wanted to execute her. Well, Roderick did, but she still thought Cassandra may have been fine with it if it wasn't for Roderick being the one to order her.

'You have the Mark.' Solas spoke up from behind her.

'And you're the one we have to keep safe. Since they can't decide anything...' Varric also spoke up, trailing off.

Eden was silent as she thought for several moments. 'Take the mountain path. Work together. You all know what's at stake.' She had hoped to sound confident but worried she instead simply sounded scared. As they all turned to move, she met Atlas' gaze for a few moments. He nodded once, which she took to mean he approved. She nodded back, still hoping to hide the fear in her core.

...

Several ladders lead them to the top, into what she could only assume was a mine of some sort. It was dark, creepy, and she didn't like the fact that demons literally jumped out at her from the corners. They were still a force to be reckoned with, and the only problem with the demons was that there were so many of them.

Eden had always liked fighting, which brought her parents, who for a while wanted to raise her as a traditional daughter, no end of problems. They had learned quickly that that was simply not the way she did things. She was an individualist first, and liked to hide her thoughts behind a layer of sarcasm and occasionally cynicism. Not to mention she also wasn't the best with people, so she did it more as a defense mechanism.

They found the scouts shortly after exiting the mine. They were fighting the demons and the rift, and, bolstered with the quintet, made short work of them. She closed another rift, her arm still tingling.

'I'm getting good at this.' She murmured to herself.

'Thank you!' One of the scouts said, breathing heavily.

'All in a days work!' She said brightly, also a bit winded, 'Closing rifts and killing demons.' She realized how odd the statement sounded after she'd said it.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was, in a morbidly ironic twist, now mostly just ashes, with hardly any of the sacredness.

'I recognize that smell,' Atlas remarked, with none of his usual cheer, as they got closer to the ruins of the Temple.

The smell was terrible, and not something she hoped to smell ever again. She brought her free hand up to cover her nose and saw the others doing the same, Atlas pulling up a half-mask.

Once they got inside, they found the source. Scattered about were the burnt remains of those who died in the blast, frozen in their last moments of terror. She coughed, trying to look anywhere but at the bodies.

'Grisly,' Varric said as they moved forward.

'Just a little,' Atlas agreed, a grimace in his tone. She didn't particularly want to know how Atlas knew that smell.

Only some of the foundations of the Temple had survived, guiding them into what could only be the epicenter of the blast. A rift, larger than the others, hovered in the air, a beam of energy connecting it to the Breach in the sky.

'Leliana! You made it.' Cassandra sounded relieved, and Eden turned to see Leliana approaching with several soldiers in tow.

'Yes,' She affirmed, 'Are you ready to close the Breach?'

Eden frowned to herself, looking at the rift, then up at the Breach. 'I'm ready to try, but I wouldn't be surprised if I fell asleep in the process.' The magic used to seal the rifts, not mention the collectively exhausting events of the past several hours had begun to take their toll on her. She realized that most of her body ached.

'You will only need to seal this rift. It is the first, and thus the key,' Solas spoke up, the expert on these matters, it seemed.

'Well... then let's go.'

Voices could be heard faintly as they approached the rift, and then suddenly they became more audible.

 _'What's going on here?'_ That was her voice, emanating from the rift. They could see it now, an apparition appearing on the air in front of the rift. It was her, she had opened a door, apparently in the Temple. The Divine was in front of her, being held and bound in the air. A dark, foreboding figure stood before her, hood drawn and eyes glowing red.

 _'Run while you can! Warn them!'_ An Orlesian voice, filled with urgency and alarm - the Divine.

 _ **'We have an intruder.'**_ If 'evil' had a voice, that would be it. It seemed to belong to the tall dark one. **_'Kill her.'_** Yep, definitely evil.

'You _were_ there!' Cassandra spoke as if she had had some sort of revelation, and quickly began bombarding her with questions. 'Who attacked you? And the Divine, is she - is this vision true? What are we seeing?'

'I don't have a single clue, Cassandra!' Eden responded, exasperated. 'I know as much as you do.'

'The Fade bleeds through this place.' Solas began, wonder evident in his voice, 'The rift is not sealed, but it is closed... albeit temporarily. With the mark, I believe we can open it, then close it properly.'

'Let me guess: opening it will bring demons through,' Atlas remarked flatly.

'Well... yes.' Solas responded, perhaps hoping to reassure them otherwise but being unable to lie.

Cassandra began yelling commands, and the Inquisition soldiers quickly formed up. She noted that some of the scouts they had saved were also there.

She looked to Cassandra hesitantly, who gave a confirming nod. With some trepidation, she stuck her hand out towards the rift and let the magic do its thing. The rift pulsed with the inflow of energy, growing larger until it burst, giving off a small shockwave that forced her to take a step back.

Materializing where the rift was, an absolute unit of a demon, at least sixteen or seventeen feet tall, maybe taller, formed in the air before dropping down, causing the ground to shake. Spikes formed around its back and it looked almost made of stone. Several large horns protruded from its head, and it looked down at her with several black, inky eyes.

'Shit.' She dived out of the way as the demon moved forward to slam its hand where she had been.

'Now!' She heard Cassandra yell and heard the telltale sound of arrows being fired and hopefully sinking into the demon. Looking back, she found several of them found their mark, but the demon seemed unaffected.

Several smaller demons also appeared though Inquisition soldiers moved forward to deal with them, leaving the quintet to deal with the demon. With so many smaller enemies, the demon seemed to find quite a hard time choosing who to attack. At one point, it yanked its hand and materialized a long whip of lightning magic, and slammed it on the ground; fortunately, no one got it.

'Eden! Disrupt the rift!' Solas yelled. What? Could she do that? She raised her hand towards said rift, grimacing as the familiar beam connected her to it. The rift burst but did not disappear, but the large demon yelled and fell to one knee.

She saw her chance; she ran towards the kneeling demon and climbed up one of its knees, then onto its back. The base of the neck seemed a good target; she took her sword in a backhand grip, then plunged it into the skin of the beast and was rewarded with a loud roar. Then it decided it didn't enjoy piggyback rides, and stood up abruptly, throwing her into the air and onto the ground. It turned to her, materializing a whip in its hand. From her prone position, having just been violently thrown to the ground and disorientated as a result, she couldn't do much to move out of the way as it brought it up and then slammed it back down on top of her.

Fortunately, that didn't happen. Not entirely, anyway: A cloaked figure she recognized as Atlas jumped in front of her, blade swiping the whip out of the air. His sword soon followed, probably forced out of his hand from the powerful blow. The demon was having none of it, bring the whip back and forward again. This time, it didn't miss, hitting Atlas square in the chest and sending him several feet in the air, over her head, and onto the ground behind her.

'Atlas!' She yelled in alarm as she forced herself to her feet. If he had just died to protect her... she turned to the demon, suddenly angry. 'Bastard!' She yelled and raised her hand to the rift again, adrenaline hiding her quickly fading levels of energy. The beast roared but still dropped to its knees.

'Attack it!' She yelled, and her companions obliged, all rushing forward to hack away at its limbs. She saw several bolts from Bianca embed themselves in the creature's head, and from its position, it reared back, but still didn't move away enough to avoid anything. Ice, probably from Solas' staff, slammed into the creature, while her and Cassandra's weapons cut into its now vulnerable flesh.

All of this trauma appeared to be too much, for once it stood up again, it hissed then fell backward, finally dead. For good measure, she kicked it, then bit back a curse when it felt like she was kicking a stone.

'Eden, the rift!' Cassandra yelled, and Eden nodded once, raising her hand to the rift using her last vestiges of strength. It took much longer, but finally, the rift burst, properly this time, sending a pulse of energy up the large green strand into the sky, and then into the Breach itself. The Breach sent a shockwave into the sky.

'I did it.' She managed weakly, before finally passing out.

...

 **So. Here we see Eden Trevelyan, my female Inquisitor. I apologize for the lack of original dialogue in this chapter (though there was some) but there wasn't really much I could do here. The next chapter will be much fresher. I don't know when I'll get it up, though.**

 **She is, as you may have guessed, a warrior, I decided against a mage because it's been done so much before and I want to try and avoid cliches (though who knows how successful I'll be). I hope you enjoyed seeing her thought processes. I don't know at this point how much of the fic will be from Eden's view, and how much will be from Atlas's, though I know it will be a mix. I might even throw in some companion's views if it suits the story. We'll see.**

 **Feel free to review.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Exci**


	3. Chapter 3

Eden awoke dazed once more, though this time in a much more comfortable position. She was lying on her back, staring up at the wooden ceiling for several moments, trying to work out what was going on. The Conclave... explosion... demons. Oh boy. Was that a dream? Slowly, she sat up, looking at the room she was in.

A stone fireplace was placed on the wall next to her, firewood on either side. A barrel with a lit candle and unlit lantern was directly next to her, and she glanced down to find a pelt rug. Across from her was a desk with various supplies: herbs, a few potion bottles, a book, a bowl of fruit, and some notes. Next to that were even more barrels, a cage with a... a raven, it seemed, in it. A bookcase with only a few books and other miscellaneous items, then a small archway leading to the door of the shack.

Said door had opened just moments previous, and in her grogginess and sweeping of the room, she hadn't noticed an Elven servant enter the room. She'd known many Elven servants, for the keep of House Trevelyan had a few. She had always treated them fairly, never fully giving in to the idea that they were less than humans. This particular elf, upon noticing she was awake, dropped the box she had been carrying.

She was a small thing, as most elves were, with red, shoulder-length hair pulled back over her ears. 'I-I didn't know you were awake, I swear!' She seemed afraid of her. Well, that was no surprise, Eden was intimidating, obviously, very scary. She still didn't like it, though, it made her feel uncomfortable.

'Oh, don't worry, you're... fine.' She tried not to be awkward, or seem as afraid as the elf.

The elf dropped to her knees and placed her hands on the ground, kneeling as if in prayer, which made Eden recoil a bit and frown. 'I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.'

'Oh, um... could you... not do that? I mean, I'm nothing special.'

The elf looked up, but remained on her knees, a bit confused by Eden's statement. 'You're back in Haven, my lady.'

'There's no need for that.' "My lady" was technically a proper term, as she was still the child of a powerful Bann, but the way this elf seemed to worship her was unnerving her. 'You can stand up.' Eden chose not to, still tired and confused.

The elf opened her mouth to respond, eyes darting around nervously, before nodding and getting back to her feet. She seemed to have forgotten her dropped package. 'They say you saved us. You closed the Breach, with that mark on your hand.' Upon mention of the mark, she felt a phantom pain in her left hand, and opened her palm to stare at it with a bit of disdain. 'It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days.'

'Three days?' Had she been asleep for that long? It didn't feel like it. 'Wait, 'saved'? You mean they're happy with me?'

The elf twiddled with her thumbs for a few moments, 'Um, yes. I mean, it's just what I heard.' She looked down at the floor.

'You're not - I mean, I'm not angry with you. You don't have any reason to be scared.' She stood up now, but noticing the elf take a step back, didn't move any closer. 'Sorry. What's your name?'

She seemed confused; as if she'd never been asked that question. 'Um. It's Seren, my- I mean... just Seren.' She seemed to remember Eden's request not to call her 'my lady'.

'I'm Eden. You already knew that, but now we've been introduced properly.' She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Seren smiled back, if nervously. Well, it was a start. Then she seemed to remember something, 'Lady Cassandra would want to know you've wakened. She said, 'At once'.' She started to move back towards the door.

'That's fine, Seren,' She raised a hand, and Seren stopped. 'You go back to what you were doing. I can go find Lady Cassandra myself.' Seren thought about this, then nodded. 'Oh, have you seen, erm,' It took her a moment to remember his name, 'Atlas? Is he okay?'

Seren frowned, 'I don't know anyone by that name.'

'Okay, he's, er, he's the really attractive human. He was injured after the battle at the rift.' The words 'really attractive human' seemed to ring a bell.

'Oh! I know him. But, I don't know where he is. I never took care of him, just you.'

Eden frowned, a bit disheartened, but then she shook her head. 'That's fine. It was nice meeting you, Seren. I hope to see you again,' She smiled at the elf again, still hoping to seem friendly.

Seren smiled back, more shy than nervous. 'Thank you - it was nice meeting you too... um, Eden. Lady Cassandra is at the Chantry.' She seemed uncomfortable saying those words, probably used to using honorifics instead of names. She quickly ducked back out of the door.

'She was nice,' She said out loud to nobody in particular. Now to find Cassandra. She followed Seren out of the door after a few moments, moving the fallen box to the side with her foot as she did. She opened the door, expecting to find Haven bustling with people, but otherwise unchanged as before. She was unprepared for large crowds to be gathered seemingly with the intention of watching her exit her shack. After she exited, a wave of murmurs sprouted up, and nearly everyone seemd to be looking at her; her, who now looked like a deer under a spotlight.

Two guards in heavy armor awaited by some steps, fists over their heart, across their chest, in some sort of sign of allegiance. She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably, before continuing forward, looking straight ahead to avoid meeting the curious gaze of anyone in the crowd.

 _'That's her, that's the Herald!' ... 'That's the one who saved us.' ... 'I thought she'd be taller.' ... 'She closed the Breach.'_

A variety of similar statements bombarded her ears, and she clenched her jaw and kept walking through the village, towards the Chantry, as quickly as possible. A much smaller crowd of mostly Chantry members gathered around either side of the doors, speaking, and also shooting glances her way. She was sure some of them were glares, but she didn't stop long enough to look, hurriedly and somewhat angrily throwing open the doors.

The inside of the Chantry was less ornate and extravagant, than, say, the one in Val Royaeux, or even the one in Ostwick; it was made of traditional stonework, pillars on either side leading to a door at the center of the wall at the end. Attached to each pillar was a long board of wood which held a lit brazier. Several candles were on the floor at each pillar, as well as a variety of barrels probably containing some variety of supplies or miscellaneous items.

She continued her walk to the end, where she assumed Cassandra would be. Upon opening the door, she recognized the armoured forms of two Templar guards on either side. In the middle of the room was a table, and situated around it was Cassandra, Leliana, and -

'Ah, the prisoner,' Chancellor Roderick the Twat (that was what she called him in her head) said with his ever-present disdain for her. 'Chain her. And prepare her for travel to Val Royeaux, where she will be put on trial.' Roderick sniffed pompously. How does one manage to sniff pompously?

'Disregard that, and leave us,' Cassandra spoke, pushing off the table. She heard the clang of metal behind her as the two Templar guards put their fists to their chest in a salute, then left the room, closing the door behind them.

'This is insubordination, Seeker Pentaghast,' Roderick said stiffly, turning to face Cassandra.

'The Chantry may be blinded, Chancellor Roderick, but the Breach is still a threat. I will not ignore it.'

'And yet you stand here with the very perpetrator of that which supposedly threatens you.'

She hadn't even said anything yet. Time to change that. 'You mean after all I've already done, you still think I'm a suspect?' She was speaking mainly to the Chancellor; Cassandra didn't seem to have any sort of vendetta against her like Roderick. Leliana had remained quiet so far, but Eden suspected she was of the same mind as Cassandra.

'We most certainly do.' He said 'we'. Was he speaking for the entire Chantry now? A global religious organization, all condemning her based on the opinion of one man. She resisted the urge to sneer at him.

'No. She is not,' Cassandra interrupted.

' _Someone_ was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others,' Leliana began, soft-spoken but with an unseen force behind her words, 'or have allies who yet live.' At this, she very pointedly looked at Roderick directly.

Roderick glared, but it seemed to take him a few moments to see what she was insinuating. ' _I_ am a suspect?' He started, incredulous, actually recoiling a bit as if the very thought was poisonous. Twat.

'You, and many others.' Leliana responded coldly.

'So you mean to imply that that mark, the fact that she survived - was all a coincidence?' Roderick continued to try and maintain his argument.

'Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour,' Cassandra spoke up.

'Ah, don't I get a say in this?' Eden began, glad for Cassandra and Leliana's defense of her, but also eager to get her own voice in. 'Now, I believe in the Maker as much as the next person,' If the next person didn't believe in it at all but had lied to everyone around her for years, 'but I wouldn't go so far as to label me some... some divine figure.'

'There you have it,' Roderick stated pompously, crossing his arms.

'That doesn't mean I'm guilty of what it is you're implying,' Eden continued through gritted teeth. Roderick managed to push her buttons like no other. Save, perhaps, her siblings during an argument.

'She was exactly what we needed when we needed it.' Cassandra persisted.

'The Breach is still in the sky, and your mark is our only hope of closing it,' Leliana said.

'That is _not_ your decision to make.' Roderick retorted.

Cassandra reached behind her, turning and practically slamming a book down on the table. 'You know what this is. A writ from the Divine, granting us the right to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition of old reborn.' She said with an air of finality, before advancing on Roderick and pointing a finger at his chest, 'We will close the Breach, find those responsible, and bring them to justice. With, or without your approval.' Eden watched on, a smirk forming upon seeing Roderick get what he deserved.

Roderick glared back at Cassandra, looked to Leliana, then to Eden, before turning and leaving the room. Upon his exit, Cassandra heaved a sigh, and Leliana similarly planted both hands on the table.

'This is what the Divine wanted. We are to bring order to the chaos, and find those who will stand with us against it.'

'We aren't ready,' Leliana continued, as if arguing to herself, 'We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support.'

'But hey, you've got the power of friendship,' Eden spoke up, and was met with two glares, 'Sorry,' She coughed, 'But I'm not sure you have much of a choice.'

'You're right,' Cassandra responded, 'We need to act, with you at our side.'

Eden was silent for several seconds, 'I'm sorry, it sounded like you said you wanted me involved with the formation of the Inquisition.'

The other two exchanged a glance before Cassandra responded, 'Yes, that was what we were intending.'

Eden was filled with a nervous anxiety, 'But I've got no experience. I'm the daughter of a Bann who likes swords and stabbing things, not... fighting demons, closing holes in the sky and... bringing order to the world.' She gestured vaguely with her hand towards the end of her sentence.

'You are the only one who can make this work,' Leliana said, 'Your mark is the key. Without you, our Inquisition is useless, and the Breach will destroy us. You are already involved; its mark is upon you.'

The guilt trip and logic worked, as Eden bit her lip, crossing her arms while she thought. 'I... fine.' She said, being unable to think of any arguments that would save her morality. 'If you're truly trying to restore order...'

'That is the plan,' Leliana said.

'Help us fix this, before its too late,' Cassandra continued; again with the guilt tripping. Cassandra held out her hand to shake.

Eden pursed her lips, looking at the proffered hand, before conceding, 'I'll do my part.' She reached forward and shook Cassandra's hand, more or less sealing her fate. What an ominous thought.

...

She had left, not entirely sure of what it was she had really agreed to except that it was going to be important. Cassandra and Leliana had work to do; she had... well, she didn't really know what she was going to do.

Unknowingly, she had drifted to a small campfire next to some tents while absorbed in her thoughts.

'So now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up alright?' She looked up in surprise upon noticing that Varric was talking to her. She had apparently wandered over to his 'spot'. 'I mean, you go from being one of the most wanted criminals in Thedas to... joining the ranks of the faithful. Most people spread that out over more than one day.' He continued lightly, attempting to brighten the mood. It would have succeeded, were Eden not thinking too hard.

'None of this shit should've happened.' She said, exasperated, and began pacing. 'I didn't even really have a purpose up there, you know, I was just sent there so my parents could get a break. I was never the ideal daughter for a Bann. But instead, I get...' She made an indistinct gesture, 'this. I'm just... really confused.' She stopped her pacing and sighed, running a hand through her hair.

Varric looked at her with a mix of amusement and concern, 'You're telling me. We were sat here for days, looking up at a glowing hole in the sky that spat out demons. To say it was 'bad for morale' is a bit of an understatement. I'm still surprised anyone was _inside_ of that thing and made it out alive.'

Eden was staring at nothing as she listened, but then looked at Varric. 'Why did you stay? I mean, you had the chance. Cassandra said you were free to go. I don't think anyone would blame you,' She ended with a sort of nervous chuckle.

'I consider myself as selfish as the next guy, but...' He began lightheartedly, before his expression darkened, 'Thousands of people died up there. I was almost one of them. I've seen a few tragedies before - written some - but this... there's a giant hole in the sky,' As he said this, he looked up at the said hole in the sky, 'I can't exactly leave that to sort itself out.'

Eden followed his gaze, staring at it. 'I want to be angry but I don't even know what to be angry at.' She muttered, crossing her arms.

'You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to know where this is going. Heroes are everywhere, but that... that's beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle.' Eden looked back to Varric as he spoke.

'You don't do much to inspire confidence, do you?' She responded with a frown.

Varric chuckled, 'Sorry. I consider myself pragmatic.'

'More like pessimistic,' She said, but she was joking now.

Varric laughed again. 'If you ever need anyone normal to talk to - you know, someone who's not a spy, mage, or a Seeker with anger issues, you know where to find me.' He gestured to the campfire, a friendly smile on his face.

'Thanks, Varric,' She smiled back. 'Oh, speaking of, do you know where Atlas is? Is he okay?'

Varric's smile turned into more of a knowing grin, 'He's fine. That whip thing hit him pretty good, but he made a quick recovery. I think he's out by the dock on the frozen lake,' He paused, then continued, 'I'm sure he'll be happy to see you.'

Eden didn't entirely know how to respond to that, mostly because a part of her was also hoping he _was_ happy to see her, so she nodded, said her thanks, then turned towards the gates, walking towards the lake. Outside the gates seemed colder, probably something to do with the lack of walls or the fact that she had just walked away from a warm fire. Tents were situated on either side, mostly the right, and soldiers trained, sparring each other, going through drills, or just hacking away at a target dummy.

She continued forward, following the worn path towards the lake. The lake was obviously mostly ice, and she wondered for a moment the last time it had been unfrozen. She might have enjoyed walking across it if she had faith she wouldn't fall. A few small boats were around the back of the dock, snow piled up inside of them, mostly useless since there wasn't any water to put them in. At the end of the dock, sitting against one of the posts was Atlas, not adorned in his armour as far as she could tell. He had his cloak on, hood down, wrapped around him to protect from the cold.

He had his strange slightly curved sword in his hand and appeared to be sharpening it using a whetstone. She stood at the opposite end of the dock for a few seconds, unsure of whether she should approach when he made the decision for her, looking up as if he knew she was there the entire time.

'You look like you've got something to say,' He laid his sword across his lap, setting the whetstone on the wood beside him.

'Well, yes.' She began, walking closer, 'I didn't get to thank you for... kind of saving my life, being unconscious and all. I wanted to know if you were okay. I mean, that thing had to have hurt.

'Oh, it did.' He muttered, looking at the lake, but then seemed to realize what he might have implied, 'I don't blame you, though, I was happy to help. I would prefer if you did not do that again, though.' He said with a smirk.

'Does that mean you're staying here, then?' She managed to keep the hope out of her voice - why did she need to keep the hope out of her voice? She didn't even know this man. He just happened to be... really good looking. She was better than this.

'I believe I will be, yes.' No, she wasn't.

'Why is that?' Oh, brilliant, ask him 'why' he's staying. 'I mean, no one would blame you if you didn't want to be a part of this. You've got no obligation.' Make up your damn mind, Eden. You're terrible at this.

'Only a moral one,' He responded, looking out across the lake, before turning back to her. 'I admit, this isn't what I had intended to find when I came here, but it's what I found nonetheless. I can't really stand by while... well,' He gestured to the Breach, dark and foreboding as it was, in the background.

'Where did you come from?' She took a step closer, now curious.

' Nowhere you'd've heard of,' He said with a shrug, 'Far-off land, and all that.'

'Oh come on, don't try and be enigmatic. I've heard of lots of places. I've had schooling and such. Can't be too far.'

Atlas flashed an amused smirk, 'Alright, if you insist. I'm from a place called the Erithan Isles, far off the coast of Antiva and Rivain.'

Eden frowned, thinking for a moment, 'You're right. I haven't heard of it.' Atlas chuckled, and she continued, 'What kind of place is it?' She decided this was a great moment to sit down on the docks, still several feet away from him. She didn't trust herself to be any closer.

'Oh, well it's... a very pretty place, I can assure you. It's not doing so well right now though,' He frowned to himself, staring at nowhere in particular as he thought.

'Why not?' She asked softly, curious but now worried she had crossed some sort of line.

'War.' He breathed, a bit dramatically, still staring at an indistinct point before looking back at her, 'A civil war. It's why I left. Not like I found myself in a better position, but still.'

'Sorry I asked,' She said truthfully.

'Oh, not your fault. Enough about myself. What about you? I've heard some things, but, not being from here and all, I.. don't actually know a single thing.'

Eden blinked in surprise at the sudden topic change. She was beginning to think that the topic of his home was a little sorer than he let on, but didn't want to bring it up for fear of being rude. 'Oh, um... I'm Eden Trevelyan,' She stated blandly. She wasn't used to talking about herself. The only ones who asked did so out of politeness, or never cared in the first place; would-be suits, those trying to catch her eye. It didn't work, because they were pretty easy to see through. 'I mean, you knew that. Probably.' She wasn't very good at socialising with people she liked. Did she just admit that? It was far too soon to say she liked him. Then she mentally slapped herself. She was a grown woman, confusing herself over some guy who she had never even known existed yesterday. Er, four days ago.

'I did indeed know that, but not much else,' Atlas responded, fortunately oblivious to her inner commentary, 'You fight well. From what I understand, it's not common for female nobility to learn the art of combat.' She didn't know him well enough to be able to pinpoint his expression nor his inflection.

'Do you disapprove?' She asked, leaning back a bit and looking at him with her eye raised.

'Oh, no, not at all, I mean, er, that's not what I had meant,' Now it was his turn to seem flustered, thinking he had offended her, 'That was just what I understood from reading about your society.' The way he spoke made it sound as if he and his people were very disconnected. Then again, living on an island she had never heard of, it was possible his culture was completely different. 'Where did you learn?'

'Oh, well my brothers learned, and I learned from watching them. Nothing too exciting. Uh, not too long ago, my father hired someone to try and teach me, but... that's probably not working out so well now. I've always liked swords, bit more than my brothers, I suppose, which was weird, being the only daughter. Made my mother mad sometimes, too,' She said, smiling fondly. She had no idea why she was telling him this, as she was normally quite private. Even her earlier conversation with Varric was more than she let on. Perhaps it was just the situation.

'Do you still need someone?' Atlas asked, and she looked up in a mix of confusion and surprise, 'To teach you, I mean,' He amended, realizing how that may have sounded.

'Oh. Well, yeah.' She blinked. 'Are you offering?'

'I am. I know a thing or two about blade work.'

'Well... I accept, then.' Yes, because nothing could possibly go wrong, being attracted to the person who's going to teach you how to swing a sword. 'Where did you learn?'

He seemed surprised, for some reason, at the question, 'Oh, a lot of places. I... started from a young age. It was a necessary skill, at the time. And I turned out to be really good at it. I've some experience, at any rate.'

'How much experience? You can't be that much older than me.' It was true, he looked to be in his twenties, maybe thirties at the latest.

Atlas seemed to find this funny, smirking into thin air, 'I'm older than I look, you may come to find.'

'Oh really? How much older?'

'It's rude to ask,' He responded though he obviously wasn't really offended.

'It's polite to tell,' She countered.

He smirked again, 'You won't be getting it out of me. I like being the mysterious one.'

'I like it too.' The words were out before she could stop them. She quickly tried to amend it, 'I mean, you know, it's like Varric, you can count on him to be the comedic relief, count on you to be... mysterious...' She had made it awkward.

He chuckled and she didn't know whether she should be glad or disheartened, 'If I'm the mysterious one, which one are you?'

She thought for several moments, before responding, 'The awkward hero.' She nodded.

'I can tell.' They locked eyes for a moment before she looked away, hoping she wasn't blushing.

'Well, um, I'll be seeing you,' She said after a few moments.

'Feel free to find me whenever you want some sword training.' He brought two fingers to his brow, then casually saluted her.

'I will,' She smiled, then quickly turned before she could embarrass herself anymore, heading back to the cabin where she woke up.

...

 _Atlas_

Atlas looked away for a few moments, before subtly turning back to watch her go, unsure of what to think.

He was beginning to like her, that much he was sure of. But should he? She had no idea who he really was, not to mention that he was far, far, older than she. A war was brewing between Thedas, demons, and a hole in the sky, and instead of politely brushing her off, he asked if he could teach her how to use a sword, and thus spend more time with her.

An immortal, the _last_ immortal of his people, and what did he use his years of knowledge for? Absolutely nothing, that's what, caving his emotions and biological needs. Stupid biology. Useless thing, really. He could distance himself, if he wanted, acting solely as her teacher. She'd need the training, really, and with all his experience, he probably was the most qualified. He could probably even make her angry at him by being a terrible teacher, or an incredibly harsh one.

Except there was a part of him (a shockingly large part) that didn't particularly want to distance himself from her. What even was it that he liked? Her looks? Well, she _was_ pretty. And he'd been alive for some time, he knew what pretty looked like. The awkwardness was also cute. Oh, if only he had someone to talk to about this.

'Hello there,' said a soft-spoken male voice. Absorbed in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed Solas the Elven mage approach his spot on the dock.

'Greetings. Solas, isn't it? I don't think we've had much time to talk since this whole thing started,' Atlas responded. Solas, from what he knew, seemed similar to Atlas himself, albeit more serious. He had no idea how old Solas was, for he didn't know how elves aged. He hadn't met too many.

Solas offered a polite smile, 'No, we haven't. I see you've found a suitable spot for solitude.' Solas was polite, but guarded; he could tell. It was reasonable, but Atlas' first inclination was to find out exactly what he was guarding.

'If I could sleep out here, I would. Did I steal your spot?'

'It doesn't exactly belong to me, and I've only been here a short time. I only came here for small amounts of time, when I could try and focus on the lake, instead of the Breach.'

Atlas nodded in understanding. In a way, that was what he had been doing, too. 'What stake do you have in this? You're an... apostate, I think they called it, aren't you? Seems dangerous.'

Solas seemed to smile knowingly at this, 'With the Rebellion, all mages are now apostates. As for my place in this... it's hard to ignore. The Inquisition is going to need my help - everyone's help. I believe they are the best option.'

Atlas pursed his lips, nodding, 'Fair enough. I'm much the same,' They were both silent for a moment before Atlas decided to ask, 'Solas?'

'Yes?'

'Have you ever been in the situation where you were attracted to someone, knew you couldn't pursue them, but felt the need to anyway?'

'That's an oddly specific question,' Solas commented. Atlas said nothing. 'I have.' He continued softly.

'What did you do?'

It was Solas' turn to be silent for several moments. 'I pursued them anyway. It ended badly. We were both better for it, nonetheless.'

They both looked out across the lake, unaware of just how similar they were.

'Well, this was an enlightening, if short, conversation. Thank you, Solas.' Atlas said suddenly, turning to look up at him.

Solas smiled and inclined his head, 'You are welcome. Farewell. Enjoy your solitude, for however long it may last,' He finished almost knowingly. He turned and began walking back towards Haven.

Alone once more, Atlas sighed then spoke aloud, 'Why is everything always so complicated?'

* * *

 **Dialogue! Hopefully, you can see where I'm leading things. The two immortals conversing was actually something that occurred to me recently. And again, I promise more of Atlas will be revealed, so it's not just intentionally vague things to make him seem interesting; I actually do have a story for him, where he's come from, etcetera.**

 **I aim to make more chapters like this in between important story events, ones filled with mostly dialogue. They won't always be important, some of them will just be casual banter between the party. While they're traveling, and such.**

 **Also, I know the updates have been fairly fast-paced, one after the other, but that's just because I've had enough free time and I know, more or less, what I'm writing. I'm not going to stick some strict schedule because I know I wouldn't be able to. Wouldn't be fair to anyone to try and rush myself to finish chapters for a deadline.**

 **Lastly, tell me what you think of the characters! Atlas and Eden, mainly, though if you have any comments about anyone else, feel free to mention them as well. Suggestions, as always, are welcomed and appreciated.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Exci**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Sorry this took me longer than other updates, persona life got in the way. I've been busy and stressed recently. Hope you enjoy this; it's largely a dialogue chapter.**

* * *

Eden didn't have the faintest clue what time it was when she awoke, and she had never been a morning person in the first place. She sat up on the bed and stared at nothing for several moments, waiting for her mind to come to terms with being awake.

Eventually, she did and moved to get dressed in proper clothes. She had been given a few sets of normal clothing, which, admittedly, was far less than she was used to. She wasn't going to complain, especially when she had had a suit of armour made for her. The blacksmith, Harrit, was his name, had apparently guessed her measurements and gotten them mostly right. Unfortunately, the first time she had tried it on was the only time she'd worn it since they hadn't been anywhere that required armour. Really, that hadn't been anywhere at all. The armour was sitting in the corner. If armour could look sad, she thought that's what it'd look like.

She recognised that it took some amount of time to organise an entire Inquisition, especially without Chantry support, but that didn't make the waiting any less infuriating.

She opened the door and was met with a guard in armour, facing her with a hand raised as though he were about to knock. He took a step back, startled, before realising he had a purpose for coming here. 'My Lady Herald,' He began, composing himself, 'Lady Leliana requests your presence in the Chantry meeting room.'

'Oh, finally, I'm sick of waiting,' She said, too tired to keep her thoughts inward, nor acknowledge the title by which he called her. She didn't know why she was tired, she hadn't stayed up nor had she done anything intensive. 'You're, um, dismissed. Thank you,' She finished awkwardly. Ordering people around had never been her thing. He saluted with his fist across his chest then walked away to go do soldierly things.

She headed towards the usual route towards the Chantry, ignoring the glances she got from the occasional villager, soldier, scout... anyone, really. She had gotten pretty good at that.

She opened the doors to the Chantry to find Cassandra waiting for her. Without a word, she began to walk alongside her, towards the door at the end.

'Does it trouble you?' Cassandra spoke up suddenly, and Eden frowned, looking over at her to notice her gaze drifting to her hand.

'The mark?' Cassandra nodded, and Eden sighed, 'It... I don't even know what to think about it. If it didn't have the wonderful ability to connect me to the giant hole in the sky, I probably wouldn't care.' They had stopped walking.

'We have need of it yet,' Cassandra said lightly, and Eden's frown deepened.

'So you've mentioned.'

'Your mark is no longer killing you, and the Breach is stable. Solas believes a second attempt should succeed if you have more power. Enough power to match that which opened the Breach in the first place. Not easy to come by,' Something about her tone of voice made Eden look up from her Mark.

'You sound like you've got an idea. I don't know if I'm going to like it.'

Cassandra smirked, ' _We_ do.' She continued onward towards the meeting room, opening it to reveal Leliana, and two others she had yet to meet.

'This is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition forces.' A handsome blond with some impressive armour, including a nice cloak, stood across from her. She mentally sighed at her first label of 'attractive' ( _Really, she_ was _better than this)._

'Such as they are,' Cullen began, 'We lost many in the valley, and I fear we'll lose more before this done.'

'Well maybe with that attitude,' She said lightly, hoping to crack a smile. She succeeded, if barely, the ghost of a smirk appearing on Cullen's lips.

'This is Josephine Montilyet, our chief ambassador, and negotiator.' To her right, a cheery looking Antivan woman holding a writing board, wearing a very elegant dress. Josephine beamed.

'Greetings, Lady Trevelyan,' Her voice had a pleasant lilt to it, not to mention her accent. Her choice of name made her grimace somewhat.

'Urgh, I'm still used to people calling my mother that. Just call me Eden, please,' She glanced to everyone else in the room, 'Same for the rest of you.'

Josephine smiled again and nodded. Clearly, the cheeriest of the bunch; Eden liked Josephine. 'You've already met Sister Leliana,' To her left.

'My position here requires a degree of...' The soft-spoken woman began.

'She's our spymaster.' Cassandra interjected with a note of amusement.

'Tactfully put.' Leliana sighed and shook her head, but with more fondness than annoyance.

Eden looked back out to the trio. 'Well, I... look forward to saving the world with you all.'

'I mentioned that you needed more power to close the Breach.'

'Which is why we should approach the rebel mages for help,' Leliana added, and she could feel the mood of the room shift.

'I still disagree,' Cullen said, clearly resuming an argument they'd had before. 'The Templars are a much better option.'

'The Mark needs power to close the Breach. With enough magic, it could-'

'It could kill us all,' Cullen interrupted, 'The Templars can suppress the Breach, weaken it so that we have a chance.'

'Pure speculation,' Leliana said stiffly.

'I was a Templar, I know what they're capable of.'

Leliana seemed about to retort before Josephine spoke up, 'It matters little because neither group will let us speak with them. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition,' She looked at Eden, pointing with her pen, 'and you, specifically.'

Eden 'hmph'd. 'That was quick.'

'Shouldn't they be arguing over who will become the next Divine?' Cullen said, a note of something akin to sarcasm in his voice. He clearly didn't have much love for the Chantry - though being a former Templar, she couldn't blame him.

Josephine shrugged, continuing, 'There are many who call you the Herald of Andraste,' Her nose involuntarily wrinkled at the title, 'it worries the Chantry. As such, they have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harbouring you.'

Eden crossed her arms, 'If only we could ignore them. I've already been doing that most of my life.'

'It limits our options,' Josephine spoke before more bickering could continue, 'We can approach neither the mages or templars.'

'They can see the blazing green hole in the sky, right? Or are we just crazy?'

'Oh, they think the Breach is a threat,' Cullen said, 'They just don't think we can stop it.'

'There is a stepping stone,' Leliana spoke up, 'A Chantry Mother by the name of Giselle has requested to speak with you. She isn't far, and she knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.'

Eden frowned, 'She's a part of the Chantry, and I'm a heretic. Why would she help me?'

'Perhaps she's one of the reasonable Chantry members.' Leliana responded, sounding amused, 'You'll find her in the Hinterlands, near Redcliffe. She's helping wounded refugees.'

'While you're there, it couldn't hurt to look for opportunities to expand our influence.' Cullen said.

'We need agents in the field to extend our reach. You are in the best position to recruit them,' Josephine added.

'Oh, yes. Anyone want me to get food while I'm at it? Maybe take a trip to Orlais and get some decor?' She said dryly and was rewarded with equally dry looks. 'I'll be right on it, don't worry.'

'I will be going with you to the Hinterlands, as well as a contingent of soldiers.' Cassandra said matter-of-factly, and Eden frowned.

'That seems too conspicuous. Won't the soldiers be needed elsewhere? As in, won't we have some sort of camp they need to maintain? And jobs for them to be doing?'

'Well, yes, but, right now, your safety is our priority. Without you, the main goal of the Inquisition is... unachievable.' Cassandra responded.

'But we can achieve my safety without wasting resources,' Eden argued, 'What if we bring Solas and Varric? And Atlas?' She seemed to add as an afterthought, though she purposefully said the names of the others first to avoid suspicion. Suspicion of what, she wasn't sure, as there was literally nothing to hide.

Cullen interjected, 'Solas and Varric have proven themselves, but this... Atlas? We don't know him. He was found at the Temple, around the time we found you.' He then seemed to remember something, adding quickly, 'In any case, I support Cassandra. We can find the soldiers for this.'

'But we don't _need_ to. And what ulterior motives could Atlas possibly have? He saved my life at the rift, you know. And I seem to remember you found him _fighting_ the demons, not conjuring them. You said it yourself, the Inquisition has already lost too many soldiers. We don't need to throw more away. We can use them elsewhere. Send them recruiting, or something.' Eden found herself speaking her mind, looking to all four of those present as she did.

After a few moments, Leliana said, 'She is right. But so is Cullen; Atlas is an unknown. I sense you will try and bring him anyway, but I will be keeping an eye on him.'

'That... is fair,' She had expected some sort of argument and was ready to retort, before processing what she said. She had no idea what this particular Spymaster meant when she said 'keeping an eye on him', though. 'When do we leave?' She said to Cassandra.

'We'll begin our journey today. I'll send someone to alert the other three. The journey should only take a few days, so be ready to make camp.'

Eden nodded once and looked to the others, noticing no one speak for a few moments. 'Is this... where we do some sort of cheer or do we all kind of... leave?'

There was more silence, as they collectively shared glances, began to smirk, and shake their heads. Cassandra left, and Leliana followed. 'What?' She said, confused. Cullen left soon after, leaving Josephine. 'No, seriously, is that... are we just leaving, then? No more words?' Even Josephine just walked out with little more than an entertained smile. She was left alone in the meeting room. 'Well, they certainly need to work on communication.' She said with a hmph, then left to go gather her things for travel.

...

It had taken a few more hours to rouse the other three and for them to prepare for travel, but by some fortunate happenstance, she had woken up quite early in the morning, so that still had much of the day left to begin their travel. Cassandra had yet to show up, for some reason. They were given horses (Varric was given a pony, which he did nothing but shake his head and sigh at before getting on), which awaited them outside Haven's gates, and all had little trouble - except for Atlas, who for some reason was having difficulties with his mount.

He was a few feet away from it, both hands held up disarmingly, but the horse had some kind of crazy eyes, looking at Atlas as though he were about to kill him.

'Does this normally happen to you?' Varric said, obviously finding this quite funny.

'I can try and calm it with a spell, if you like,' Even Solas, who was normally quite stoic, had a visible smirk on his face, looking on.

'No, I've got this perfectly under control,' Atlas said stubbornly, slowly taking another step forward. The horse seemed to snort, if horses could do that, and he stopped and glared at it. Eden wished she could go and help him, but she wasn't exactly a horse whisperer. She had had training and some riding experience, but beyond that, she had expected a traveler like Atlas to be far better at this.

'Do they have horses where you're from?' She said, half to mess with him and half out of actual curiosity.

He looked to Eden quickly at that, 'No. No, we do not.' He didn't seem proud of the fact, 'Islands, and all that. We've never had a need for them. We usually just... walked.'

'Where are you from?' Varric pitched in, also interested. It appeared Atlas hadn't explained his origins too much.

'An island, or series of islands, far off the coast of Rivain and Antiva.' By now, he had managed to edge his way closer to the horse, who surprisingly had not moved that much, though still appeared to be eyeing him.

They all watched silently as she quickly put a foot in the stirrup, pulling himself up and onto the saddle, and nearly falling off the other side, gripping the reins and causing the horse to veer to the right before he fixed his balance. This resulted in the others laughing (or in Solas' case, exhaling sharply through his nose and shaking his head, a smile on his face).

'Should we have gotten you a pony, too?' Came the accented voice of Cassandra, walking up from the gates.

'I am perfectly capable of riding this horse, thank you.' He straightened his posture in an attempt to appear dignified, which likely normally would have worked, were he not constantly looking down and about, obviously nervous about his current predicament.

'We can always switch, if you like,' Varric added.

Atlas muttered something under his breath, but didn't seem to really be angry. Just a little annoyed, perhaps. Inwardly, Eden thought the teasing was a good indicator. At least their little group got along. Humor was going to be sorely needed.

'Where were you, Cassandra?' Eden turned to the aforementioned Seeker.

Cassandra, who was mounting her horse, answered, 'I was reading over the most recent reports from our scouts in the Hinterlands to see if they found anything new. It seems the area Mother Giselle and the refugees are in seems to be where much of the fighting is concentrated.'

'Fighting?' Eden asked her, but it was Solas who answered.

'Between the Templars and the Mages. When the explosion causing the Breach destroyed the Chantry, all chance for peace, however brief, went with it. Both sides accuse the other of being responsible, and though not all believe it, they still fight each other to the bitter end. Often not caring about collateral damage.' Solas was a font of knowledge, it seemed.

She looked to Cassandra, who just nodded, 'We should expect trouble once we arrive, and possibly on the way there.'

'Well, I say we should get moving instead of sitting here.' Atlas said, which was a practical sentiment, but it was likely more due to him and his horse having an uneasy relationship that could result in him being thrown off at any given moment than any lasting pragmatism.

Varric chuckled, and the rest of them were similarly amused, but there were no objections. They set off at a moderate pace, surprisingly silent for the first bit of the journey, though that only lasted a short time.

'So how long have you been in Thedas, Sandy?' Varric said, looking over to Atlas.

Atlas frowned and pulled a face when he realised Varric was speaking to him, 'Sorry, Sandy?' He didn't seem particularly offended, more surprised and amused.

'You know, 'cause of your hair. It looks like sand.' Varric explained as though this made perfect sense. It almost did, Eden thought. His hair _was_ a similar colour.

Atlas frowned, looking up at his own hair as though he had forgotten what colour it was. He hm'd, then shrugged. 'I suppose so, yes.'

Varric smirked, shaking his head, but continued, 'You didn't answer my question.'

'Oh, well... about a year, I believe. After I arrived, I very quickly journeyed inland. Eventually, I found a friend in a city called...' He went silent on his horse, trotting along steadily, and when Eden looked over, she found him frowning and looking at nothing.

'Did you forget the name of the city?' She said jokingly, though she was slightly concerned by his sudden silence.

'No, it was Markham,' He responded immediately without looking. He paused for a few more moments before continuing, 'I found a friend there, who I stayed with. His name is Lethiel. I told him I was going to the Conclave... I should write him a letter. I hope he's alright.' He seemed to be talking to himself as opposed to anyone else.

'I don't know that it was ever answered, but why were you at the Conclave?' Cassandra spoke over her shoulder from the front of their little horse convoy.

Atlas looked up then, 'Oh, well, admittedly, I wasn't supposed to be there.' Cassandra didn't stop, but she did shoot a glance at him over her shoulder. Unperturbed, he went on, 'I hadn't actually made it in. I had just crossed a hill and was looking at the Temple for the first time when... it exploded.'

Cassandra made an indistinct noise of acknowledgment, more of a grunt, and Varric quickly went on to fill in the silence and change the subject, 'If your people don't use horses, what do they use?'

'I told you. We walk. Or use boats.' He said, 'if we have to go another island, that is,' He added quickly after a pause.

'I must admit, I've never heard of your home,' Solas spoke up, the first he'd spoken since the start of their journey.

'Nobody seems to have. It's not too surprising. My people are solitary. We don't trade often, nor do we contact other people.' If Eden didn't know better, she'd say Atlas was uncomfortable. He spoke oddly, pausing in between each sentence, then speaking quickly. He had mentioned some sort of civil war though, so if that were true she couldn't blame him. It was a bit odd, though. He obviously came from a small country, if you could call it that, and since it had never been found somehow by anyone else on Thedas, it had to have been pretty small.

Silence persisted, leaving her to her thoughts. She had no idea why she was suddenly suspicious when just a few days ago she had been, quite shallowly, attracted to his face (admittedly, she still was, but had had little else to focus on that was even remotely pleasant. She had not yet resorted to drinking in the local tavern). Still, she got the inkling that maybe Atlas wasn't being entirely truthful. The probability of an isolationist island country that no one had heard of existing off the coasts of Rivain was... probably quite low. Still, he had been quite helpful during the closing of the rift around the Temple. And he had offered to teach her swordplay - which she still wasn't sure what to think about. She had taken a liking to fighting a long time ago, and so she had learned quite a bit in her time practicing and then being taught by an actual tutor. She had little to no actual experience, however, her first real fight being against a demon just a few days ago.

Just a few days. So much had happened in just a few days. A holy temple exploded. A hole appeared in the sky. She had started to befriend an elven mage, a dwarven author with a huge crossbow, and a mysterious human who may or may not be what he said he was. Not to mention her joining the leadership of the Inquisition, a group whose last incarnation predated the Chantry. She hadn't even told her parents or her siblings. They may even think she was dead, just like Atlas' friend. She should also send a letter, sometime.

'Solas,' She said suddenly, rousing herself from her thoughts.

'Yes?' He looked over from his position to the right and ahead of her.

'Why haven't you taken a side in the Rebellion?' She was trying to fill the silence, but it was also something she'd been curious about.

'You mean why haven't I joined my fellow mages in taking up arms against the oppressive templars?' He said with some degree of patronization, though presumably not directed towards her. She nodded. 'I was an apostate before the rebellions. I wouldn't wish this war on anyone, but even so, I hold no love for the Chantry Circles. There is no benefit in allying myself with them for an ultimately pointless conflict. My place is here.'

'It is a pity more mages do not share your ideals.' Cassandra said, which was true enough.

'Well, it's not as though they can escape the conflict,' Atlas said, 'If they tried to give up, it seems like all the templars would do is either imprison them or kill them. I suspect the opposite is true as well. War is often like that.' There was a bout of silence.

'And here I thought this was going to be a cheery horse ride.' Varric said.

...

In an unspoken agreement, they hadn't discussed the conflicts from then on, electing instead making small talk at various points throughout the ride. Varric often related anecdotes to them, and occasionally Solas would mention a location nearby with an interesting past, things that he had seen while dreaming in the Fade, which Eden and Atlas found fascinating. be

'What is the Fade?' Atlas asked curiously. By now they had been riding for several hours, and the sun would be down the horizon sometime soon.

Solas looked over, raising a brow, 'Are you asking for my interpretation of it, or do you really not know?'

'What you believe it is,' Atlas clarified.

'From a more literal standpoint, the Fade is a metaphysical realm from which all magic stems. It is connected to our world, but also separated that which we call the Veil. Spirits and demons alike dwell there. Because of the Veil, no sentient beings have physically set foot in the Fade, but all creatures, except for dwarves, visit it in dreams. Unlike them, however, I remember what I see there. It's a very complicated place.'

'Why do dwarves not visit the Fade while dreaming?' Atlas asked.

'Because we don't dream.' Varric spoke up, continuing, 'Dwarves don't have a full connection to the Fade, which is apparently something to do with living underground next to lyrium over thousands of years.

'Do you have mages amongst your people, Atlas?' Solas turned the 'tables of curiosity', as it were, on Atlas.

'What? Oh, yes, a few. They're not that common, though, because we've a much smaller population.'

'We should make camp,' Cassandra interrupted, and find a spot nearby to rest.'

'Oh, finally, my legs are starting to chafe. I've never ridden a horse for this long.' Eden said earnestly.

'Didn't you ride to the Conclave?' Atlas said.

'I rode in a carriage. I'm the Bann's daughter, after all.' She said, not sure how to feel about her own statement. She didn't want to come off as snobbish, as that was exactly what she despised in nobility.

Atlas pursed his lips but said nothing. Cassandra led them to the nearby treeline, further in until they were suitably far from the road and in a suitably open spot to make camp. They all got off their horses, unloading whatever supplies they had taken and unrolling their tents to be put up. Atlas declared he was going off to find some wood for a fire, and Cassandra set about making a stone circle in which to start the aforementioned fire.

'Have any of you ever even gone camping?' Eden asked in the middle of pitching her tent.

'Never willingly. Can't say I'm too fond of voluntarily going without a warm bed. Don't know how you stand it, Chuckles.'

Eden frowned, 'Chuckles?'

At this, Solas sighed, 'He is referring to me. And I prefer being closer to nature. I do not stay in one place long enough to have any single home.'

'Your loss,' Varric said, ironically, with a chuckle, 'What about you, Seeker?'

'I must admit that I am more of a mind with Solas. Nature is peaceful, and a welcome distraction from my other duties. I do not get enough chances to spend time in places like this.'

'Well, I for one prefer taverns and the nightlife to campfires and the animal life. Much more lively. You're all boring. Except you, Eden. I don't know about you yet.' Varric pointed a finger and spoke conspiratorially.

Eden paused from her tent assembling to place a hand on her chest in mock offense. 'Do I not even get a nickname?'

'Oh, you give it time, I'll find something that fits you, Twinkle Toes. No, that's not right...' Towards the end, he trailed off and looked away, as though he were saying it to himself instead of any of them. Cassandra, for some reason, groaned at this, which Eden took as verification of Varric's statement. The two seemed to have a history of some sort, but considering they weren't giving each other the cold shoulder (she thought it may have been impossible for someone to simply 'ignore' Varric) it must not be too bad.

Atlas returned shortly thereafter, carrying a bundle of wood of varying sizes in his arms. Seeing the stone circle set up, he more or less dumped the entire bundle inside of it, before going to his horse to retrieve his pack.

'We need to decide who will take first watch. We may not have encountered trouble so far, but I do not wish to leave things to chance.' Cassandra said, which made a fair amount of sense. Bandits were a fair concern, as were rogue templars and mages stumbling upon their encampment.

'I can set up wards that will deter those who get to close to our camp. I use them often while dreaming in ruins.' Solas said.

'I can keep watch. I'm not too tired anyway.' Atlas said in the midst of setting up a bedroll. No tent, Eden noticed, which was odd.

'That is not necessary,' Cassandra said quickly, perhaps too much so, 'I will keep watch, since I proposed the plan.' That seemed reasonable enough, but Eden also remembered their conversation in the meeting room back in Haven. Cassandra didn't trust Atlas, which Eden had no room to judge, considering she herself had her own doubts, despite defending his coming along to the other leaders of the Inquisition.

'You don't trust me,' Atlas said. He didn't seem offended, it was instead as though he were making an observation. His expression also seemed to be one of interest, if she had to name it.

Everyone was silent for a few moments, before Cassandra sighed, 'No, I do not.'

Before she could continue, Atlas responded, 'I don't blame you. Nor would I blame the rest of you if you didn't,' He looked to them all, gaze seeming to linger on Eden's for a moment - or perhaps that was her imagination. 'What if you and I both keep watch? After they all fall asleep, you can question me to your heart's content. Even if I lie, which I assue you'll assume I am, you could still get some valuable insight.' The other three's attentions turned back to Cassandra.

She seemed to stare at him, jaw hardening (if that were possible) and one could practically see her thinking. 'Very well,' She finally said, 'We will see what happens.' Atlas nodded once, smiling appreciably and going back to his bedroll.

'I hope you know the rest of us aren't going to be able to sleep. Well, not me at least. I'd love to see someone else get interrogated by the Seeker for a change.' Cassandra groaned.

...

 _Atlas_

True to his word, Varric had not actually gone to sleep. He went into his small tent, but both Cassandra and he knew that he wasn't sleeping. He suspected that Eden and perhaps Solas (though he also wouldn't be surprised if the elf wasn't all that bothered) weren't asleep. It was only when Cassandra snapped into the awkward silence that she would not be the one to carry them if they fell asleep on their horse they he heard shuffling inside the tents.

They waited several more minutes, Atlas doing his best to remain enigmatic and unbothered about his upcoming interrogation, though in truth he had thought over several answers to possible questions in an attempt to preempt them.

'Are you really from a place called the Erithan Isles?' Cassandra spoke suddenly, but softly, still not trusting those in their tents. They (he) had found fallen pieces of logs too thick to be used for a fire and brought them over so those on watch would have a place to sit. Her seat was only a few feet to his left, which, from a tactical standpoint, they should've been facing opposite directions, but he also didn't suspect an attack anytime soon.

He looked up suddenly from the embers of the campfire, thinking on his answer again for several seconds. 'No,' He answered finally, and by the release of tension in her shoulders, he could tell that she wouldn't have believed him if he said otherwise. 'It's called Erithan,' he continued, eliciting a frown, 'and it's not on Thedas, which wasn't a lie. It just happens not to be a collection of islands.'

'Where is it then?' She leaned forward.

'I won't say,' Cassandra started to retort, her features already forming into an angry frown, before he interrupted her with a raised hand, 'Please. This is a matter of personal significance. I did leave my homeland for a reason, and before you ask, no, it was not because I was a criminal or anything of the sort. Besides, where I'm from doesn't hold much significance. I'm no long-lost noble, crimelord, or any other person of importance.' All was true, except the very last part. But then, 'importance' was a rather relative term, which meant he was lying and wanted to justify it to himself. _Well,_ he continued in his thoughts, _I have a perfectly suitable justification; no one would believe me if I told them. They'd probably dismiss me outright._

Cassandra half-stared, half-glared at him for several moments before nodding once and leaning back a bit, 'Very well. I suppose you are right, it doesn't matter in the end,' Atlas contained his relief, 'Now for my next question,' His relief escaped containment and was no more, 'What is your purpose in the Inquisition? There are many who would see us disbanded and destroyed, even in our current state.'

A much simpler question, for there were no lies involved, 'I wish to help. In any way possible. I have many skills the Inquisition would find valuable, not the least of which is with my sword. Anyone who does not see the Breach as a threat is blind, and any who wish to dismiss help like the Inquisition are foolish.' He was referring to the Chantry, for they were truly inept. He had limited experience of this world, but what he had seen had proven the Chantry's history true. Not that propaganda they tried to paint as the truth, but that which was found everywhere else except where the Chantry paraded it.

Again she observed him with a keen eye before responding, 'I want to believe you. I will give you the benefit of the doubt for now, and I expect you to prove yourself in days to come.' He inclined his head to show his acknowledgment.

'Thank you.' She nodded in turn.

'Is your name really Atlas?' It was a reasonable question, but he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't just asking it out of curiosity.

'Yes. Atlas Svorosi is my full name.'

'Really? No middle names, or anything?' She seemed both surprised and a tad embarrassed, though he didn't know why. He had heard of some having more than a personal name and a family name, though he didn't feel the need for one.

'No, why do you ask?' It was his turn to lean forward with interest.

'No reason.' She deflected quickly, looking away, 'Anyway, I am the one asking you questions. Is it true you asked to train the Herald in sword fighting?'

Atlas shook his head, ignoring her strange attention to these 'middle names', 'I asked the Hera- I mean, I asked Eden if she would like a teacher. She agreed. We have not yet gotten a chance to actually teach her anything, considering we've been on horseback most of the time.'

'What makes you qualified to teach her?' She sounded suspicious if nothing else. He hadn't actually done any true fighting with or around any of them, aside from demons, who were no real challenge of skill, just of not getting your face clawed off.

His first instinct was to make a sarcastic remark about how he had gotten a degree in sword-ology, but he thought that wouldn't help his case at all. So he answered truthfully, if vaguely, 'I have experience.' It was not a lie in the least, though he couldn't tell her that he had more 'experience' in years than the combined age of everyone at their campsite. 'I've been taught by several swordmasters.' Also true.

'On Erithan?' She asked with a note of sarcasm and disbelief.

'Yes. On Erithan.' He didn't bother to try and defend himself from her sarcasm. She was justified in her skepticism.

'Hmph,' She intoned, shaking her head, 'How do I know you weren't lying to me this entire time and still plan on killing all of us in our sleep?'

He was a bit offended before she realised she was a bit right. Only a bit. 'Well, putting aside the fact that I risked my life staying with your Inquisition in the first place, not to mention the answer to how I even got into your company,' Through incredible violence and more self-risk was the answer, 'you don't. But then, you trust Solas the elven apostate who could be a spy for the Mages, or a dangerous free agent. You trust Varric, who, from what I gather, you captured at some point and interrogated him in less friendly terms than you are to me now. I won't mention Eden because she doesn't really have a choice.'

Cassandra frowned (she was doing that quite a lot, it was almost her normal expression that this point), 'Why do your arguments have to make sense? This would be much simpler if I could just condemn you. Instead I have to have faith.'

Atlas pursed his lips and nodded in an expression he immediately recognised as one he had picked up from Lethiel. This revelation distracted him for a moment before he turned back to the present. 'Well, at least you've got morals. A bit of faith is never a good thing. Well...' He amended, tilted his head as he did, 'usually. You were - _are_ \- the right hand of the Divine, I'm sure you've had to have plenty of faith in your life.' She scowled in response and shook her head, and he continued, 'Anyway, you're welcome to go to sleep now.'

She looked back at him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, 'I'm not so sure I should.' She sounded as though she were waiting for him to argue.

'Suit yourself,' He shrugged and crossed his arms, looking back to the fire, 'I didn't plan on sleeping in the first place.' This was true. He could probably go the full three-day trip without sleeping, though he probably would have to once they reached their destination in the Hinterlands. Not to mention the fact that he didn't sleep well, and recent events wouldn't help much.

'Why?' Her tone again shifted to curiosity in place of skepticism.

'I'm not tired. I don't need to sleep. I'm content with keeping watch all night,' He said matter-of-factly, 'You can go to sleep at any time, I won't kill you. Promise.' He smiled devilishly at the end of it, also hopefully conveying the joke.

'Hmph,' She grunted, 'We'll see.' Atlas shrugged again and retreated to his own thoughts, savoring the relative solitude as he was satisfied that Cassandra would ask no more questions.

Once he stopped focusing on anything in particular, like his previous conversations, time passed quickly for him. He couldn't say anything for how it felt for Cassandra, for he had no idea how much time had passed. The moon appeared to be in its darkest phase. His world had two moons, he remembered fondly, and he had been quite confused on his first night, noticing only a single crescent in the sky. Some amount of time later, Cassandra, after some apparent hesitation, stood and walked over to her tent, laying her sword beside her and taking off her breastplate, the only armour she had kept on when they had made camp. He assumed that she had fallen asleep sometime later, as she stopped moving except for the occasional twitch. In the silence filled only with the sounds of the forest and the crackle of the fire, he found some solace in ignoring the chaos amidst his thoughts and instead reveled in the luxury of the night.

* * *

 **It should go without saying that I hope you all like the chapter. I don't know how much you guys like dialogue vs action, but then, the last part of _this_ dialogue is rather important. The first several parts are the beginning of friendships forming, being set up by friendly banter, and me seeing how I can write the characters.**

 **I expect to include more traveling chapters like this, not necessarily on the trip from Haven to Hinterlands, and not every trip they make will have a chapter devoted to it, as that'd just get tedious. But every now and then I think it'd be fun to get an insight to what they all talk about, especially as they become closer to each other. Those chapters might be shorter when they do come, even though this one was long (longer than the last two, actually, but the first is still the longest so far).**

 **Which also brings up a point; how do you readers feel about long chapters? Is it something you like, or do you prefer shorter ones that you can blaze through and get into the next one when you feel like it? I write these all at once because I feel like it'd be odd not doing it all at once; it's kind of connected, but then I could also just as well try and split it into two parts. If you've got no opinion that's fine too.**

 **I think that's about it for now.**

 **Cheers,**

 **exci**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: sorry not sorry for the lack of consistent punctuation, particularly with quotations. I switched computers and on my old on, the shift key stuck a lot of the time, so I just went with '. i'm actually sorry for the long long wait, but there's only so many excuses i can bring up, so i'll just leave it as: life happened. also writer's block. i may, at some point, try and edit the first several chapters, as i don't like the way i wrote some of them.**

Eden was decidedly not a morning person. To her knowledge, she hadn't been woken up for a night watch shift, but still, someone who she thought may have been Atlas had to kick her awake. Varric came by shortly afterward and prodded her with a stick until she grudgingly sat up, a disgruntled expression on her face. Her hair was also a mess, which she could do nothing about at present except comb through it with her fingers. In a haze, she went through the process of gathering up her tent and bundling it up, tying it to her horse, as well as strapping on her armor, sword, and shield. Few words were exchanged by anyone. Solas seemed normal, Varric looked a bit more grumpy than normal, Cassandra probably always woke up this early, and Atlas seemed unperturbed as ever.

'Who did you trade watch with, after I went to sleep?' Cassandra asked as she mounted her horse.

'No one,' Atlas said nonchalantly, also getting atop his horse.

'No one?' asked Cassandra in surprise.

'No one,' Atlas affirmed.

'But... didn't you sleep?' Cassandra seemed confused, and Eden did too. Varric and Solas were also looking at him curiously.

'No,' He said it as if it were perfectly normal. Cassandra and Eden shared a glance, mutual in their befuddlement.

'Aren't you tired?' Cassandra continued.

'No.' True to his word, he didn't seem the least bit different from last night. She thought perhaps he had slept while on watch, which would have been terribly irresponsible, but he didn't look any more tired or disgruntled. He was looking at them all with an expectant expression on his face, probably waiting for them to get going.

'I will have to take your word for it. If your lack of sleep affects your performance, we will have words,' Cassandra said and nodded to the rest of them, her horse beginning its trot to set the pace.

'Do you trust him now, Seeker?' Varric spoke after a few minutes on the road.

'I wouldn't go that far,' She said, "but I do not believe he is a threat to us," Eden glanced over at Atlas to find him looking pleased with this.

'So, you're not going to try and kill us, right?' Varric spoke this time to Atlas, 'Or did she threaten you enough to avoid that?' He was being mock serious, she could tell, but Atlas frowned.

'I was never going to kill you. And she didn't threaten me.' He shifted his position in the saddle and looked ahead.

'Huh. She threatened me a lot. You got an easy time of it,' Varric said wistfully, and Cassandra glared at him.

'For some reason, I don't think you're doing anything to avoid getting threatened.' Atlas said in a tone of amusement.

'Are you kidding? The Seeker loves me!'

'Varric!' barked Cassandra, who most definitely didn't love him in any sense of the word.

'It's tough love.' Varric said unabashedly. Cassandra just groaned, shaking her head and staring ahead.

* * *

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Eden hadn't grown anymore used to her saddle than the day previous and had to shift several times into a more comfortable position, before eventually deciding there was no such thing as a 'comfortable position' for hour-long horse rides. The climate got only somewhat warmer, still quite cold, which was alright. She preferred the more moderate climate of the Free Marches.

The banter continued, which allowed her to focus on something other than the chafing of the saddle. Varric decided that it was a great time to begin telling stories, true to his mantle as the storyteller. He told them with such fervor and passion that she started to believe them herself, although some of them sounded a little too fantastical.

What an odd position she was in. It still hadn't quite set in that she was now a symbol of faith to a heretical Inquisition, that there was a hole in the sky that people still thought she was responsible for, that she was going to be in the middle of the war between mages and templars.

She frowned to herself as she thought about it. She'd never even ridden a horse for this long before now. She didn't consider herself a stuck-up princess but admittedly she'd usually had a carriage for longer rides. To the conclave, for example, though she hadn't been alone then.

She'd dreamed of escapades similar to this when she was younger, the product of a youth spent, for the most part, inside of a castle. She'd gotten lucky, in that respect. She grew up without having to worry about much. She had vowed long ago to not let it go to her head, for she absolutely loathed the attitudes of other nobility her age. She'd met Orlesians, who were inarguably worse than Free Marchers, but not always by much.

She almost laughed at the idea of some of them in their frilly dresses trying to figure out all the straps and buckles on her armour, or how to properly hold a sword and shield without either of them falling out of your hand. Or, Maker forbid, ride on a horse that was not one of two pulling a carriage along.

She'd been incredibly fortunate that her father was a patient man, and that she was a woman after his own heart. Most in her family had taken up service to the Chantry in some form or another. Even she was destined to inevitably. Her father had only been holding off on the inevitable, as had she. That she'd had to attend the Conclave was proof of that. The beginning of a relationship to significant members of the Chantry. Her brother Maxwell was only exempt from a career as a Templar because he was the heir to the bannorn after Aryn had died. The thought of her older brother brought a weight down on her shoulders, and she realised she should probably abandon that avenue of thought before she went too far.

"...so the nugs have gotten into the basket of food, the sister's fake staff has caught fire, Hawke is drunk underneath the curtains, and I still haven't figured out how to tell Genevieve that I accidentally poisoned her cat," Eden pulled a face as she tuned in, having missed an entire story. The tension in her from her earlier thoughts dissipated.

"Wait, what?" She spoke up in between the laughter of Solas, Atlas, and even Cassandra, "I want to hear this."

"Ah, you just missed the best part of my wonderful story of the time the Champion of Kirkwall and I decided to participate in a Chantry play. Genevieve was a Chantry mother and both the director and lead actor. I swear," He chuckled in between words, "they thought we were witches for a bit there. Hawke certainly surprised them when he pulled those nugs from a hat."

Eden was left more confused and thought she would quite like to hear this story, but then Cassandra spoke up, "We're close to our destination,"

"I hear fighting," Atlas said, brow furrowed. Strange. She didn't hear anything.

"I don't. But fighting has been heavy around this area, so it's not surprising," Cassandra responded.

They continued on their horses for only a short while before she heard what Atlas must have been talking about. Shouts and the distant clang of metal, and she could have sworn she heard something like an explosion. The others glanced around, meaning they heard it too. She wondered briefly how Atlas had heard it so far away.

"We should leave the horses here," She said, "We're not exactly mounted cavalry,"

"Agreed. Dwarves weren't meant to ride a horse into battle,"

"Perhaps we should have found a pony," Solas, surprisingly, was the one who teased Varric as they hopped off their respective mounts, some with more difficulty than others. Eden smirked.

"Ha-ha, Chuckles. Keep it up and I'll have to find a more ironic name for you,"

She had smiled at the joke but a nervous tingle settled in her stomach at the prospect of the fighting ahead of them. She had practiced fighting all her life but she could do little to prepare herself to actually fight someone who wanted to kill her.

Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. After all, they weren't involved in the war directly. Maybe she could talk through them. At the least, they wouldn't have to fight.

Or was that cowardice? Did she really know what she agreed to when she shook Cassandra's hand? There would obviously be more fighting. Demons were one thing, but people were an entirely different story.

As they rounded the corner of the trail, a stray lightning bolt hit a tree near them, and they all flinched. Ahead, mages were scattered about, attempting to surround a small group of templars in full armour. The Templars were expanding their circle, pushing outward as their lyrium-fueled abilities took hold and negated the effects of the mage's powers. Without it, the closest mage to the group was struck down as he attempted to bring his staff to bear.

She'd had no preconceptions, but seeing someone die was jarring. It was... sudden. He was there, in the fight, and then he was on the ground, a gash across his chest, unmoving. The Templar who killed him didn't seem to notice, moving forward only to catch a fireball in the helm, the fire catching through the open view port as he staggered back and screamed. Another lightning bolt sent him to the ground.

She was frozen as the others moved forward - excepting Solas who, being the mage, stood back. He seemed to realise the source of her hesitation, for he stepped closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Steel yourself, Herald," She frowned instinctively at the title and he amended, "Eden. There will be more fighting before this is done. They are your enemies, as you are theirs." He confirmed what she already knew, but hearing someone else say it gave her a boost in willpower, and she nodded and started forward. She heard lightning fly from behind her and strike in front of her.

The mages were on the other side of the group of templars. The templars seemed to judge their group as the biggest threat, and moved forward to defend against them. Cassandra met them first, sunburst-eye-shield meeting the larger tower shields. Cassandra was a tall woman, but looked small compared to these monsters in steel armour. Even so, she met them with just as if not more force, even pushing the first templar back and thrusting with her sword. It wasn't a solid hit, but did cut in the underarm, where his armor was weakest. She didn't waste time, pushing forward to cut him down. Nothing fancy, but it sure was effective. It made sense; she was the famed Hero of Orlais, not to mention a senior Seeker. They were practically built for combat. Even more so than Templars.

She saw Atlas next, rushing into combat with that strange curved blade of his. He was not as aggressive as Cassandra, and instead of meeting brute force with brute force, he ran in with a kind of grace. His templar had no shield, and he ducked under the first strike, bringing his blade to bear and slicing the templar's abdomen. That sword must be sharp. He wasted no time in spinning back around, swinging his sword under the templar's leg and tripping his legs out from under him.

Her observations of combat were thrown off by the combat coming to her. As the other two were distracted with their own opponents, one templar moved past them to engage her. Oh boy. He had only a sword and she a shield, which gave her a bit of an advantage. She had next to no experience in actual combat, which gave him a bit of an advantage. At least, she assumed it was a he. He was big enough to be a bear, if she was honest.

He yelled as he swung his sword overheard, and she fell back on the lessons her swordmaster had taught her when fighting opponents larger than her (which was for the most everyone else). Don't meet them head-on, and get around them. She angled her shield off to the side, allowing his blow to glance off, though the impact was still jarring. She swung her sword at the back of his leg, forcing him to his knees, but he swung his sword around at her, hitting her shield but forcing her back. She was about to try just stabbing him to see if that would work when something struck him in the back, throwing him to the ground. An arrow was sticking out of his armor, having pierced it entirely. She looked up to see Varric with his special crossbow. He managed to wink at her before turning back to the rest of the fighting.

The quickness of it had surprised her. They'd barely traded two blows before he died, and she wasn't even the one who killed him. The battle didn't wait for her, though. The others had been busy, for most of the templars were now dead on the ground. That left the mages. They were unarmoured and likely vulnerable in close-quarters, but at the moment, they were a few dozen metres away, which meant they'd have to go to them. Which left them as a target for fireballs, ice spikes, lightning bolts, and whatever else they decided to throw at them.

She felt a strange tingling sensation, and a warmth settled on her skin even as a blue glow covered her, then disappeared. She felt strange, stronger somehow. It was an odd tingling feeling, but she found that she liked it. Emboldened, she rushed forward, looking to cover the distance as quickly as possible. A fireball flew towards her at a speed faster than she could react to, and she flinched as it struck her. Instead of a fiery demise, however, she felt only a little colder as the fire bounced off of her, her entire body glowing blue.

Solas, she reasoned, had cast magic on her - some kind of ward. Rocks of some kind also struck her, but they bounced off just like the fire. The mages were close now. Cassandra and Atlas had reached them just before her. Cassandra's body glowed like hers, but Atlas' did not. He didn't seem to need it, though, being quick enough to duck under the close-range attacks of the mages and those who tried to swing their staffs. They didn't offer much resistance, and she stepped forward, shield first, bringing her sword around to slash the closest mage, a human female. She didn't look at her face, only the place where her sword struck. She fell, and she moved toward the next. There weren't many of them and the battle was over before she knew it. She'd killed two of them.

She stood over the body of the second one she'd killed, breathing heavily and staring down at it. No, _him._ This was a person. Was. She put her sword away, slung her shield around her back, turned around, and vomited on the ground. The nausea overcame her and she put her hands on her knees as the remnants of her last meal came out the way it had come in. She felt a hand on her shoulder but she was a bit too sick to think about it, breathing heavily as the nausea subsided.

"It's alright," She heard someone saying in a soothing voice, "You'll be fine. Everything will be fine," It was Atlas, she realised as she stood back up, wiping her mouth on her arm.

"Sorry," She managed, not sure what else to say, "I'm not as experienced with fighting as you all are."

"This was the first fight you've been in, isn't it?" Cassandra said. Eden looked up to see sympathy on the normally stoic woman's face.

She nodded, "The first real one, yes,"

"Don't be sorry. It'd be more worrying if you didn't have some sort of reaction like that," Cassandra nodded, still looking at her with concern.

"Better that you care too much rather than too little," Atlas spoke from beside her, removing his hand from her back. She was a bit too distraught to think about what it might have meant.

"Don't worry, Red. It'll get easier," She smiled slightly at the nickname, which seemed to fit, but shook her head.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Varric smiled sadly at that, looking away.

"I believe the danger is over, at least for now," Solas said, looking around.

"Mother Giselle is at the nearby refugee camp. She'll be wanting to speak with you," said Cassandra, gesturing down the worn path, presumably to the aforementioned camp. She nodded and trudged forward.

She was completely unprepared for that whole experience. She could still feel the adrenaline in her veins, despite the short length of the battle. Was it all like that? It wasn't much like the practice duels she'd had against visiting noblemen who thought they could swing a sword, templars who occasionally came by the castle, or her own swordmaster. She tried not to think of them as they were. They were enemies, and she was protecting herself. Maker, at this point, she was protecting Thedas. If she died, then the Breach, rifts, and demons would continue to besiege the country, and eventually tear it apart. Talk about 'no pressure'.

People limped about this Crossroads, some refugees, some Inquisition soldiers, and even a few Chantry priests. The air was somber, but she could see determination writ in most everyone's faces. She saw two of the Inquisition scouts standing next to an Inquisition banner. Seeing her, they raised their fists to their chest in salute. She nodded in return, unsure if there was a certain procedure she was supposed to follow.

She found the only person who could be Mother Giselle kneeling over a soldier on a stretcher. At first she thought she was simply praying, and she increased her pace, intending to call for a medic who could actually help him properly. If this Mother Giselle was the type of person who thought praying to the Maker was the only medicine one needed, she doubted she'd find her agreeable or helpful.

As she approached, however, she overheard the conversation, "There are mages who can heal your injuries. Be still," She carried the commanding tone of a mother instructing her child, not unkind but brooking no argument. The mage she spoke of stood behind her, arms crossed.

"I don't... don't let them, Mother... their magic is-" He spoke up, feeble but sounding certain in his fear of magic. Such a common phobia these days, and all of the rumors flying about did nothing to help. Not to mention the fact that there really was a rebellion going on and several mages were less than benevolent.

"Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade," She countered him, voice still gentle and calm.

"But..." He persisted, but the words died on his lips.

"Hush, child. Let them help you." She stood and nodded to the mage, who stepped forward. As this happened, she caught a glimpse of the man on the stretcher. Or, more accurately, the boy on the stretcher. He couldn't have been older than twenty. She frowned, a bit saddened by the realisation.

Mother Giselle walked towards her, having noticed her presence. She said nothing as she approached, leaving Eden to speak first.

"Surprisingly open-minded, for a Chantry Mother,' She said, not unkindly. It was an observation, not a bitter jibe. She didn't have any personal hostilities towards the Chantry anyway, just some moral ones.

Mother Giselle had skin the colour of chocolate, and an older, kindly face, accentuated by wrinkles. The situation they were in now probably didn't help that too much. Her posture was straight and she carried with her a quiet kind of authority intermingled with a wisdom set on her features. Her eyes were dark brown, even darker than Eden's own, and had a look of knowing, of understanding in them.

"There are others in the Chantry who would not have done the same," She conceded, "but if mages brought nothing but harm, the Maker would not have placed them here. Better to accept what they bring instead of wishing it was not. That mage could have done far more for him than anyone else here," Now that she was closer, her refined Orlesian accent was much clearer and coloured her words in a pleasant tone.

Eden nodded, "I can respect that. You are Mother Giselle, yes?"

"Indeed. And you must be the one they call the Herald of Andraste," Eden's mouth twitched towards a frown at the title which she was coming to strongly dislike.

"That is what they call me, yes," If she noticed her discomfort with the title, Mother Giselle said nothing of it, "You asked to speak to me. It's a bit surprising, considering the whole blasphemy thing."

"I am aware of the Chantry's denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it," She motioned with her hand and began walking. Eden followed, "I won't lie to you. Some of them are simply grand-standing, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the next Divine. Others are confused and scared. There were many of the Chantry at the Temple," She looked down, sadness painting her face, "So many were senselessly taken from us."

Eden looked downward too, similarly somber, "It was terrible," She agreed quietly,.

"Fear makes us desperate. But hopefully, not beyond reason," She now stopped and turned to look at Eden, "Go to them at Val Royeaux. Convince them that you are not their enemy."

Eden resisted the urge to snort, "All due respect, Mother, that's easier said than done. They need someone to blame, and right now I'm the only person who fits that description. I'm also the easiest. I doubt they'll be too happy to start supporting the Inquisition again."

Mother Giselle sighed, "You will not be able to convince them of that. But fortunately, you will not need to. All you need to do is make them _doubt._ Their power is their unified voice. Take that away from them, and they will cease to be an... obstacle," She seemed uncomfortable calling her religious order that, but she did not amend herself, "They have heard only frightful things of you. Give them something else to believe."

Eden was silent a few moments, thinking. Then she looked back to the Mother, "It's good of you to do this." In her experience, Chantry priests could be some of the most obstinate, stubborn people in existence.

The Mother looked out across the Crossroads, "I do not know if you are Maker-sent in our hour of need, touched by fate, or simply in the right place at the right time. My faith leads me to hope the first is true. But in any case, I believe you want to help, and I believe you can. I hope because it is all I can do. And it is hope that the people need so desperately. You can give them that hope. They will listen to your rallying cry as no other. You can build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us... or destroy us," Her tone accentuated the gravity of the words.

Eden swallowed, looking away as she digested the meaning of each of her statements. They both were silent for several moments as they mulled things over.

"I will go to Haven," Giselle spoke up at last, "and provide Sister Leliana a list of those I believe would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do what I can." She inclined her head and then walked away. So began their journey in the Hinterlands.

"Well, shit." She said under her breath.

* * *

There was much to be done but fortunately they were not given any deadline, so they spent the rest of their days moving throughout the Hinterlands, closing rifts, fighting demons, fighting mages, fighting templars, fighting bears... lots of fighting. The bears were arguably the worst. Or so Varric had complained.

"I'm telling you, bears are a dwarves' worst enemy! It's things like those that make me regret becoming a surfacer," He had began, shaking his head all the while. It was, perhaps, the most upset she'd ever seen the rogue, "Aside from the fact that they could crush any one of us with those teeth of theirs, all they have to do to us is walk on us!"

"Well, that's not too much. I can do that," Atlas had said matter-of-factly, deadpan.

"Is it make fun of the dwarf day? I didn't know we did that. Laugh it up, Sandy, and I'll shoot you in the ankles with Bianca," Varric retorted, and Atlas smirked while Eden and Cassandra laughed. Solas matched Atlas' amusement with a smirk of his own.

They had found a horsemaster by the name of Dennett, and convinced him to join the Inquisition after a particularly arduous time hiking around to mark spots for watchtowers to protect against bandits, and fighting hyper-aggressive wolves lead by a terror demon. Not what she'd call fun.

One day when she'd come back from the Crossroads to the encampment they'd set up outside of one of the Inquisition camps, she'd found Atlas sitting in the stump of a tree, carving a long stick with a knife. He didn't seem to be carving it into anything particular, just making it smoother and a bit pointier. She saw another one, already whittled down, laying next to him. Upon seeing her, he tossed it up. In her surprise, she didn't catch it cleanly, but managed to keep it from falling to the ground.

"Catch," He said, standing up.

"What's this?" She said, brow raised as she examined the stick.

"A sword, for all intents and purposes. If you'll remember, I offered to train you with one. Now, practicing with swords full on can be a counter-productive, so we're going to use sticks to avoid killing each other."

She frowned, "Don't the Inquisition recruits use swords? I recall the Commander instructing them, and the ones at the camp nearby."

"Yes, well, they don't have much of a choice. I'm sure if they could, they'd train them for months with something like that stick there before they let them handle a real sword. As it is, we don't have months, and the demons don't like to wait. You, however, already have enough experience with a sword that not using one for a little bit won't hurt."

She looked from the sword to him, back to the sword, back to him, a suspicious look on her face before she nodded, "Alright. Fair enough. So, what will I be doing?"

He turned behind him to grab the almost identical stick to hers. "You're going to hit me, and I'm going to hit you back. It'll let me get an idea of just what kind of training you've gotten. And how far we have to go." He seemed amiable enough, but she wasn't sure if he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security.

What for? They were literally just about to spar with sticks. He had no reason to trick her. She was being paranoid. Besides, she _had_ asked for this.

"Alright," She conceded, holding her blade with two hands in a standard guard in front of her.

Atlas raised his mock-blade directly parallel in front of him, then twirled it to the side. She didn't know the exact gesture, but she understood the meaning: it was a duelists's salute. She mirrored the action, though she didn't manage to look so graceful.

Atlas continued holding his blade to the side, left hand folded behind his back. It didn't look like any stance she knew. Maybe he was just trying to look cool. She was beginning to think she'd like withering down his confidence.

She stepped forward and the duel began in earnest. It was clear from the first few moves that Atlas was the far better swordsman. That was saying something, because she'd always been praised by her trainers has someone possessing an unusual amount of talent. He was using only one hand but there was a casual ease with which he handled the mock-sword. True to his word, he was testing her, both of them experimenting with quick strikes, blocks, and counters.

"Watch your footwork," was the only thing he had said. His expression was blank, devoid of emotion, blue eyes focused on her and only on her. Occasionally they flickered around to observe different parts of her guard. He gave nothing away, though. She pictured herself mirroring him in that respect. Despite the fast-paced nature of their spar, she got quite a good look at his face, and he at hers. His features were... intense was an adjective that sprang to mind. He could easily have passed for nobility. He had the high cheekbones, the strong jawline, the tanned skin, the blond hair. He was wearing his armour sans cloak, but it wasn't very thick and she could tell that he had a toned physique, which, as a swordsman, made sense. He wasn't bulky nor incredibly wiry like some were in their strength, he just had a kind of middle-ground.

 _Thwack!_

Her vision blurred and spun as Atlas' stick moved around her guard and hit her in the side of the head.

"Focus," He chided, voice stern. Curse it, she'd been distracted. By his _face_ of all things. And his body... she mentally shook her head at herself. He was right, she needed to focus. There was little hint of the Atlas she'd come to know the past few weeks, just the teacher and his student. Hm. He wanted a show of skill? She'd give him a show.

She made sure her grip was strong enough then came at him with renewed vigor, executing some of the most complicated attacks she knew. These were some of the last things her swordmaster had taught her before she'd gone to the Conclave after she'd insisted on learning something more advanced. They were intended to misguide and distract, then capitalise on that distraction and exploit it with quick but powerful strikes.

This put Atlas on the defensive, but unfortunately his defense never faltered. She was sure she executed the moved flawlessly, but no matter which side of his guard her footwork carried her, no matter how powerful or quick her strike, he met her stroke for stroke. It wasn't even that his defense was particularly impressive or showy, it was just always _there_. She was sure her frustration showed on her face. All throughout Atlas remained impassive, which only served to frustrate her further.

She could feel herself beginning to tire, so she pulled back, stepping away to give herself a breath. Atlas allowed her this, taking his offhand from behind his back and gripping the stick with both hands. She had enough time to think that this probably wasn't a good thing before he launched himself onto the attack.

He was unlike any swordsman she'd faced or even seen. His attacks came from unexpected and off angles, similar to hers earlier but faster and with less misdirection. The attacks seemed disjointed and unpredictable on the surface, but as it went on she could feel a strange staccato rhythm connecting each of his strikes. Defending against it was more tiresome than her offensive earlier. Even so, she wasn't entirely successful.

He struck her three times in quick succession, once on her left thigh, then her ribs, than onto the other side and on her right shoulder. She growled in a mix of frustration and pain as the fighting lulled. Again his lack of reaction outside of stepping back and looking at her infuriated her.

Fine. Being directly offensive or defensive didn't seem to work. She stepped forward, waiting for him to resume his offensive. He obliged. As opposed to some of the lighter but more precise attacks like he used earlier, he came in with a broad overhead strike, which was exactly what she needed.

She raised her sword at an angle to block but redirect his strike away, then stumbled a step back at the impact. It wasn't that difficult to act like she was more stunned than she was; he was a lot stronger than he looked. Atlas continued, swiping from right to left across her abdomen. She just barely managed to step lightly backwards, feeling the air follow his stick as it missed her.

It was probably pure luck and coincidence that the move worked out as well as it did. They both twirled in opposite directions, a normally impractical move that in this case worked. For him, he was fast enough to avoid leaving any openings during such a move. For her, it gave her enough torque to produce a blow that may actually hit him, and also moved her out of the way of his oncoming thrust. She held her blade at her midsection, pointed towards him. She spun into the move, and also into him, and was rewarded when the end of the stick stopped against his leather armour. He grunted and stopped moving.

Here they were face to face, or as close as they could get. He was still far taller, but they both stared at each other. A sheen of sweat had begun to appear on his forehead, and she could feel the perspiration dripping on hers. She had made one hit compared to his... twenty-something, but at least she could say she made him work for it.

His stony mask broke when his lips upturned into a small smile.

"Well," He began, unmoving otherwise, "That was unexpected."

"Good," She breathed. She stepped back, lowering her sword and allowing herself to take a few deeper breaths and recover. The adrenaline had surged at the end there, but she was sure she would be feeling the aches and pains later.

"You have some skill," Atlas said by way of compliment, gazing at her with a look in his eyes she couldn't place.

"So do you," She said, and smirked back at him.

Their attentions turned away when they heard the sound of clapping from a few feet away. Varric the dwarf stood, hands outstretched as he applauded the duel. In their concentration, neither (or at least she hadn't) had noticed both the dwarf and Cassandra observing the fight. She could feel the heat surge to her cheeks. Atlas was obviously the better duelist, but she still didn't like other people observing her failures. Even if it had ended with a strike on her part.

"Well, I'll be damned. I haven't seen swordsmanship like that since... well, ever. I daresay even the Champion of Kirkwall couldn't swing his sword like that," Varric had a grin plastered on his face, utterly amused.

"It's a bit hard considering he wielded a greatsword," The accented voice of Cassandra spoke up. Varric cast an annoyed glance at her, but she didn't notice. Her arms were crossed, and she was looking at them - Atlas in particular - with something narrowing on suspicion. "It _was_ impressive. Where did you learn to fight like that? It doesn't look like any style I know of," Cassandra seemed like the type to study combat like one might any other hobby, so she seemed to be an expert. Then again, she knew comparatively little of the Seeker and her interests. The past weeks have left little time for proper socialisation.

"An old friend taught me how to use a blade, when I was younger. She was older and more experienced than I, and even now, I wouldn't claim to be able to match her in combat," He spoke with a degree of wistfulness, looking off into the distance. It was a bit enigmatic.

"Was?" Cassandra said, softer than before.

"Aye. Was. Passed to time," He sighed, then shrugged, "Still. She taught me almost everything I know. The rest I've learned through experience." He offered what looked to be a disarming smile towards Cassandra.

"Hm. Well, these lessons will certainly be good for the Herald," She looked at Eden now, "For you. Speaking of, Leliana has requested that you write a report to her and the other advisers before we return to Haven. I have kept them updated, but they wish to hear your perspective."

Eden nodded, "Seems reasonable enough. I suppose then, we'll be heading back to Haven soon?"

"Tomorrow, if all goes well," Cassandra affirmed.

"I have a letter to write, myself. I don't suppose I can send it along with?" Atlas spoke up

Cassandra eyed him, "Perhaps. Where is it headed?"

"Markham. A bookstore in the lower district. I think I mentioned him some time ago; Lethiel, the man I stayed with during my time there." Ah yes, Eden remembered. He had said something about sending a letter when they rode here. "Don't worry, I won't be mentioning any details. I just wished to let him know I'm all right. He must think I'm dead, at this point. I don't blame him," He sighed.

"I can make no promises, but I will be sure to forward it to Leliana," And by that she meant sending it so that it could be meticulously read over to ensure he wasn't spying on them.

Whether Atlas knew this or not, he merely smiled and inclined his head. "Thank you."

They all walked back to their respective lodgings a few feet apart. Solas came back from gathering herbs and she could hear the voice of Varric speaking to him - perhaps appraising him of their intriguing duel. She was preoccupied with writing her report and with thoughts of finally getting back to Haven, where she had a proper bed.

* * *

 _Dear_ _̶S̶̶̶i̶̶̶s̶̶̶t̶̶̶e̶̶̶r̶̶̶ ̶̶̶N̶̶̶i̶̶̶g̶̶̶h̶̶̶t̶̶̶i̶̶̶n̶̶̶g̶̶̶a̶̶̶l̶̶̶e̶̶̶,̶̶̶ ̶̶̶A̶̶̶m̶̶̶b̶̶̶a̶̶̶s̶̶̶s̶̶̶a̶̶̶d̶̶̶o̶̶̶r̶̶̶ ̶̶̶J̶̶̶o̶̶̶s̶̶̶e̶̶̶p̶̶̶_ _Advisors_

 _I'm writing the report, as requested. I've never done this before, but I'll try to keep it short._

 _The Hinterlands are in much better state than when we arrived. Since we've been here, we have helped refugees with food and warm clothing, closed numerous rifts, and secured the assistance of a horsemaster named Dennett._

 _The mages and templars have -_ had _a few outposts in the area, which we have cleared out. The fighting in the area has decreased significantly as a result. Many of the refugees expressed their thanks to me and other soldiers of the Inquisition, and I overheard some say they might join us when they recover. We could certainly use the help._

 _Overall, we've been very fortunate. No one has gotten seriously injured, although Varric did lose some of his chest hair when he got struck by a mage's lightning bolt. He seemed pretty upset. He also has strong feelings about bears - but then, most of us do at this point._

 _Sorry. I'm getting off topic._

 _Atlas has begun teaching me how to handle a sword. We've only just begun, but I suspect he'll be a demanding teacher. Cassandra has said that she finds him more trustworthy than before. He's proven very helpful and effective in combat. I, for one, find no reason not to trust him. Not entirely, but a little._

 _I think I've covered everything. I'll see you all when we get back._

 _̶S̶i̶n̶c̶e̶r̶e̶l̶ Y̶o̶ K̶i̶n̶d̶l̶y̶_ _*Here there is a blob of ink as though the quill was stabbed on the parchment*_

 _Regards,_

 _Eden Trevelyan_

* * *

 _*Several strange-looking characters are written at the top, though not in any known way language*_

 _Dear Lethiel,_

 _It's Atlas. Surprise, I'm alive. You must forgive me for not contacting you sooner. I've been in a bit of an odd position after the Conclave._

 _Speaking of, I am unsure how much you have heard, but the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded after some kind of magical accident. I was not inside, fortunately._

 _Since that day, I've been with the newly-formed Inquisition. They are suspicious of me, and are no doubt reading this letter, but I like to think I've proven myself, if only a small amount._

 _I've been in the Hinterlands with an Elven mage, Dwarven author, the Right Hand of the Divine, and the newly declared Herald of Andraste. It sounds like a joke, but I assure you I am quite serious. We've been stabilising the region and spreading the influence of the Inquisition._

 _They are a noble group, and I think I can do some good here. At any rate, I have no intention of leaving. I hope you write back, my friend, and I hope this letter finds you in good health._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Atlas_

* * *

 **So!**

 **That's a chapter. As I said at the beginning, it's been a rough set of conditions that has prevented me from writing any meaningful amount. I started off with 500 words, and the past week is when I expanded this much, writing on and off when I could.**

 **I have no editor, proofreader, or person to bounce ideas off of, and write much of this on my phone, so there's bound to be errors. There may even be inconsistencies, for which I apologise.**

 **Onto the chapter itself.**

 **I realise that some things move a bit fast. Some things, like their acceptance of Atlas, is born, more than anything else, of necessity. They were after all going into combat with him, and couldn't exactly force him away.**

 **I could have written and described what all happened while in the Hinterlands; all the quests they do and such, and I did consider it at the beginning, but ultimately, my chapters have all been around 6k words. Even that is a lot because I have trouble being concise, and I didn't want to add another 4k words describing things that probably wouldn't be all that different from what you all already know.**

 **I've no knowledge of sword fighting in any form, which is why I wasn't entirely specific with their spar at the end there. I hope it was descriptive enough without being boring. There'll be more training between them to come.**

 **In addition, their relationship (you all already know that's where I'm going, it's even in the description of the fic) isn't going to progress as fast as I made it seem in the first few chapters. That was a mistake born of hastiness. I might edit it. I'unno.**

 **I'm a bit if a sloppy author, I know, so if you're reading this and haven't already abandoned me because of this or that, I thank you.**

 **Cheers!**


	6. Chapter 6

**surprise. it's me, exci, back again with another chapter after 934537 days. skip to the bottom for an author's note, or just read until you get there :p**

* * *

True to her word, Cassandra sent Atlas' letter along with Eden's report to one of Leliana's ravens. The very next day they packed up their belongings for a much longer trip back to Haven. They'd done all they could here.

His initial feelings about the Inquisition had been reassured through their efforts in the Hinterlands. They'd had only one directive, which was actually, as he understood it, to bring stability to the region and find potential allies. They'd done both of those things, but they'd been by no means obligated, except morally, to assist the refugees.

It was trivial to talk to the healer nearby and gather herbs for her. They, mainly Varric, had hunted rams in the hills nearby, turning the meat over to the closest thing they had to a cook. They'd searched for apostate caches and brought blankets to them.

It was easy to see what these efforts had meant to the refugees. They'd walked through the Crossroads and people had gathered along the sides of the roads to watch them. Instead of apprehension or even hostility on their faces when they'd first arrived, he saw gratitude, respect, and even adoration. For the first time in years, he'd remembered what it was like to have that sense of pride and accomplishment swell inside his chest. He didn't know how many were here. Over a hundred, perhaps. Not too many, but each of them were worth thousands, in his eyes.

And so when they first arrived, Atlas had thrown himself into battle with hardly a thought, because it was what to needed to be done. They were trying to kill others and to kill them. They were the enemies.

But when the skirmish was over he looked down and saw nothing more than men and women he'd killed who were fighting because they'd had no other choice. The tensions between mages and templars had been building for years, perhaps even decades, and it was no surprise, even to a foreigner, that it had blown up like this. In the end, it wasn't mages fighting templars, it was people fighting people. It was always people fighting people.

Mages fought for their lives, their freedom. A noble sentiment, but misguided. So many times he'd seen revolutionaries believe that fighting was the only way they could prove the rightness of their cause, that it was the only natural response to the conditions of the world that seemed to oppress them. He sympathised with them, understood their plight, but he couldn't agree that death and destruction was the answer.

Templars fought because it was their duty. Their duty was all they'd ever known. Their beliefs necessitated the control of mages. Many fought because they believed they were protecting the common people from the dangers of the mages. He admitted that he wasn't entirely versed on how magic in this world worked, but he did understand that there were always risks, some worse than others. Cassandra, when asked, said that the templars had believed that the Chantry had taken their services for granted. Not, he believed, a real reason. Most likely one used to incite others to action.

He believed the Chantry itself was to blame. He had found their religion not irregular, even if it was a bit distasteful, but the actual system he found abhorrent. The blatant racism against elves, rampant mistreatment of mages, and conditions of the country. Their history spoke for itself, and often viewed travesties through a rose-coloured glass. He was certain there were other things that they never bothered to put into the history books.

After that first skirmish, he had looked back over the bodies of the first people he had killed in decades, and despite the circumstances, felt overcome with shame. He knew he couldn't afford such emotions. They were a luxury he had long ago forgone. It was easy to be washed away in self-pity and grief over people he'd never known outside of battle. The extent of their conversations were the grunts and yells of their exertion, their emotions expressed through blocks and parries, and their aspirations reduced to the edge of a blade through the other's chest. He had taught himself long ago to distance himself from the intimacy of the opponent. Often, he instead relished the exhilaration of the fight itself.

He had long excelled at fighting. He was born into a world of it. Last of his people, excepting the elders who taught him. When he had entered the world at large, he had been a commodity. The ancient Arkanii were legendary for their prowess with magic, weapons, strategy. Sometimes that was all people remembered. It was not the great feats of architecture or art, music or theatre. It was not their philosophers and scientists who were romanticised, it was their warriors. It was all people remembered. For a long time, despite his teachings, he thought it was expected of him. Despite the sober realisations of reality war had brought, he was naive in that respect.

Time had taught him more. With the passings of his teachers into eternity, he was left with only one other of his kind. Unconsciously, he stiffened at the thought of him. No. He banished the thought; it would do nothing except sadden him.

When all else was gone, he remained. He was not near as old as some of the others of his kind, but he had faced more than a lot of them. He had retreated into solitude, partly of his own decision, partly out of necessity.

The passing of the Ancients left behind troves of knowledge and artifacts behind, and so it fell to him to protect them. Their existence was not widely known, which served him well, but he still went far away, using old magics to hide his existence from the world. He trusted no one in his world with them. He wasn't sure if he trusted _himself_ with them.

Was it irresponsible of him to run away? Like a frightened child, like a... a _coward?_ Perhaps. He had wrestled with the decision long after he'd found the portal. In the end he decided he was tired of that world. He couldn't do anymore for it, short of overthrowing existing governments and placing himself as a ruler. For a time, he had considered the possibility. He was arguably one of the most powerful men in the world. No one would stop him. In the end, it was that thought that stopped him, for the possibility scared him.

He had come here and had indeed found something new - and he had. In a way, he had welcomed the handicap that was inadvertently placed upon him with the lack of his ability to cast magic. Magic was a wonderful gift, and allowed him to be capable of almost anything - but therein lay the problem. When you could accomplish anything with words and energy, the journey was what mattered, not the goal.

With a sigh he brought himself back to reality. The monotony of horse rides often allowed time to think like that. He didn't know if the others had been conversing, but whether they were or not, they seemed to respect his silence and left him to his thoughts.

His eyes drifted over to Eden, who was riding at the lead. She rode atop the new mount that Dennett had gifted her, a dark brown Ferelden Forder. His first thought when she mounted it was that it matched her eyes. He remembered the first skirmish again, and her own reaction. It was understandable, being her first fight. Still, though, he was worried. It was a short battle but they'd had little reprieve. The fighting resumed not long after. He'd commanded people before, from small squads to entire armies, and had seen many lose themself in grief or the battle itself. He was worried for her, though. She seemed well but there was no telling what was really going on in her head. He supposed he'd have to wait and see.

She'd gained his respect with the spar they'd engaged in yesterday. He'd said little during or after, but she had surprised him. Few could acquit themselves as she did against him. Oh, she'd lost of course, but she'd lasted longer than most, and caused him to put far more effort into it than he'd expected. He was worried he'd have to start from scratch, teaching someone who thought she knew how to fight because her parents had paid people to tell her she could. But that was not the case.

Either she had a very good teacher, or she was just a natural swordswoman. Probably both. He found himself enjoying the fight, even as he thwacked her on the head for relinquishing her focus on the fight. He wasn't entirely sure what she was looking at when that happened, but he was still her teacher, so the moment called for a little force. That move at the end there had surprised and pleased him. She had ingenuity, not to mention a fierce determination. He remembered the way her brows furrowed and eyes focused on him when she got angry. She'd do well in the Inquisition. He hoped she didn't crack under the pressure.

From what he could tell, they made better time back to Haven than they had on the trip to the Hinterlands.

"We are almost there," Cassandra said after a lull in their idle conversation. "Perhaps another hour."

"Oh, good," Varric sighed in audible relief, "And here I thought we'd be riding forever. I was sure we were making good time to Orlais," He continued in a sarcastic tone.

"If we plan to follow Mother Giselle's advice, we'll be heading to Val Royeaux before long," Solas spoke up.

"Brilliant. Now instead of sending angry letters, the Chantry will get to call me a heretic in person," Eden said with a note of mocking bitterness.

"Ah, cheer up, Red. You'll still probably get tons of angry letters. You're no more a heretic than I am," Since the first time he'd said it, the nickname had stuck. It was simple, but Eden seemed to like it.

"So what you're saying is, she's just as much of a heretic," Atlas said lightly. Varric threw a lopsided grin his way.

"Thanks, Varric," Eden said after rolling her eyes.

They went silent for the home stretch. As they rounded the bend, the first thing that came into view was the veritable city of tents that were placed in the area immediately outside the side, home to refugees and Inquisition soldiers alike. As they rode in, several people stopped alongside the road to call out greetings and praises. There were even a few called his way, which he found gratifying. He smiled politely at them and waved at a few. He noticed that several of them were women, and wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that.

They reached the front gates, where several in Inquisition uniforms came to take care of their horses. He heard Eden request them to take special care of her mount, who she'd taken a liking to. He was about to say farewell, for the moment, to the others, when a runner - a scout, by the looks of his uniform, came up to him speaking in a low voice while the others stretched and spoke to each to her.

"The Lady Nightingale requests your presence in the Chantry," The man said. He could see the ears underneath his hood marking him as an elf, but thought little of it

"Alright," He responded, one brow raising ever so slightly. "Might I ask what it is she needs from me?" He had never personally spoken one-on-one with the woman known as the Nightingale, but in that short confrontation he had picked her out as someone dangerous. Not hostile - though she was a bit, in that case, but certainly dangerous. Her eyes had a calculating glare that looked right through him. He was skilled at protecting his secrets, but he knew that he'd have to be more careful around her. She was Orlesian, too, and if what he had read about their politics was any indication, she knew more than just overt ways of being threatening.

The scout shook his head, "I'm sorry, ser. She didn't tell me. Just that she needed to speak with you as soon as you arrived. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to her." The scout seemed perfectly subservient and collected, but he knew that Leliana was the spymaster. That meant this one was probably a spy. His subservience was a facade meant to lull people into thinking he was nonthreatening.

Atlas looked around to the horses being lead away, the people bustling to and fro, recruits training nearby, and the smithy not too far away. Perhaps he was being too paranoid. But then, he did have things to hide. He looked back to the scout and nodded his assent.

He was lead through Haven to the Chantry, as he said. Once inside, he followed the scout through a set of doors on the right side that he'd never been through. Down a hallway to another door, the scout stopped then gestured.

"In here, ser." He folded his hands in front of him and waited for him to continue.

Atlas schooled his face into an impeccably polite mask any politician or cutthroat noble would be envious of. He inclined his head to the spy then opened the door and stepped inside.

Leliana was sat at a wooden table, attention focused on a piece of parchment in front of her that she was writing on. He could see she was outfitted in her usual chainmail-Chantry outfit, a peculiar style that he hadn't seen anywhere else. But then, he wagered that she was more than just a spymaster. The way she carried herself, the way she moved spoke of someone who'd seen combat. He remembered Varric mentioning that Leliana was a veteran of the last Blight. That explained a bit. As he stepped in, she looked up, a polite smile similar to his own forming. The coldness was there, staring back at him, and he knew that even if he'd gained the smallest amount of trust from Cassandra, he had managed nothing of the sort on Leliana's part.

He forced himself to relax, releasing the tension in his shoulders with an imperceptible sigh. If he appeared tense, she would notice.

"Atlas," She greeted, voice soft. "Thank you for coming."

"How could I have refused? You asked so nicely. A guide, and everything." He could have commented on the shift of metal he barely heard outside the door as two people shifted into place on either side, but doing so wouldn't have helped. He probably wasn't meant to hear it - most wouldn't. He knew immediately he was in a bit of a predicament.

"Sit." An edge entered her tone. She gestured to the seat on the other side of the table, and he obliged. There were a few beats of silence.

"There is something you wished to ask me," He stated. It wasn't a question. He could guess what her questions were, but waited for her to respond.

"I shall not mince words. It did not take long to investigate the place you claimed to hail from, these Erithan Isles. And so it wasn't long before I discovered that such a place did not nor has it ever existed. No references to it, not in fiction or otherwise." She stared directly at him as she spoke, her words matter-of-fact and biting. He met her gaze unflinchingly, keeping his mask in place. She continued, "Further, there is no record of your existence in the city of Markham, except for a rumour about a strange man in a bookstore in the lower districts, beginning several months ago," At this he offered a short smile, "Your letter confirmed this as the address matched the location of the rumours. I have not managed to find any information on you across all of Thedas. So yes, there is something I have to ask you. Several things, actually: who are you, really, where did you come from, and what are you doing here?" At this she leaned for, placing her forearms on the table. There was no mistaking the dangerous glint in her eyes.

It made a bit more sense now. She was trying to figure out whether or not he was a spy. It was obvious there was something or someone behind the Conclave explosion, and she suspected that he may have been that someone or something. Eden was no longer a suspect, but besides that they had no leads. His admittedly weak cover story had broken through, and now pieces that shouldn't have fit together did, and they didn't paint him in a good light.

He had a few options. He could try and lie his way out of it, for one. He'd been pretty good at that in the past, but he'd barely managed to lie his way _into_ the situation. Plus, he had little to base his lies off of. A good lie required a little bit of truth sprinkled in, not to mention some thought put into it. He had read books, sure, but that didn't compare to being an actual resident of Thedas, and he didn't have enough time to dream up something imaginative. To put it simply, he didn't know enough.

He could leave. He had no doubt that, even with the two guards at the door, and the doubtless rogues she had hidden throughout the building, he could run out and lose himself in the forest. That, however, put him in the opposite of the position he wanted to be in. It would also bar any chance he had of being amenable to the Inquisition, for he certainly wouldn't be allowed back. He'd probably even be pursued, for that would make him look guilty of what she obviously suspected him of. No, that wouldn't be viable either.

Or... he could tell the truth. The thought gave him pause. It would be easy to explain what happened, and yet, there was little chance she'd believe him. He could be condemned with insanity, never to be trusted. Or she'd just throw him out and he'd end up in the same position as if he ran. If he convinced her, though... The other advisors trusted her. She was responsible for the flow of trustworthu information. If she believed him, then he wouldn't have to worry about the other advisors doubting him. At least, not to any extent that would bother him. Gods, he made it sound as if he really did have a sinister agenda. He considered his options at the speed of thought, and after a few seconds of silence, he sighed, breaking Leliana's gaze.

"My name is Atlas. On that, I did not lie to you. I am the last living member of the Noble house of Vyn. If you wished to know my occupation, I have none, though I've been many things: a sailor, military man, artist, writer, musician, scientist, philosopher. Currently, I favour the term 'wanderer'. As for who I really am, and where I'm from... it's a bit complicated. More than that, it will sound fantastical, and I'm certain you wouldn't believe me," He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. He made sure his words were confident and sure, though doubt brewed inside of him. He couldn't say how this would turn out.

Leliana was unreadable, her only physical response leaning back in her chair. "You have little choice but to explain yourself. Cassandra has spoken well enough of you, but that is not enough to ignore the oddities surrounding you and your presence here." She said little, but he could read enough behind the words. If he did not offer a suitable explanation, then she would kill him, plain and simple. Rather, she would try. But he didn't particularly want to test her.

"Very well." He sighed once more as he got his thoughts in order. "I do not come from here. And by 'here' I mean Thedas. No, I'm not going to pull some wordplay and say I'm from some other continent or islands no one has heard of. I mean I'm not from this world at all. I come from a place called Aethys, and I lived on a place called the Erithan Isles. In a roundabout way, I wasn't lying. But I'm not finished," He said as he saw Leliana's gaze harden and he could tell she was incredibly suspicious of him, "My people are called the Arkanii. As far as I can tell, we look for the most part exactly like humans, though we are internally different. I lived a solitary life there, and in my wanderings of the Isles came across something akin to a portal. The magic was familiar to other portals I encountered, and so I, for reasons that shall remain my own, entered the portal with the intent to leave Aethys. I found myself in a forest here, in Thedas, and, with the help of a carriage driver named Markas, rode into Markham. That was around a year ago. I went to the Conclave because I found the conditions of the war terrible, and wanted to find a way to learn more about this world. That was when things went wrong. I hadn't even made it to Temple proper when the Breach was created." He went silent, unsure of how else he could phrase things. He'd answer questions as they came up.

Leliana was silent for several long seconds, and he could practically see the gears moving in her head. "You were right about one thing," She said finally. "I do not believe you."

"I am not lying," He persisted. "If I wished to integrate myself into the Inquisition as some kind of spy or agent of sabotage or what have you, do you not think I could've done better than this? Even a half-witted novice could have come up with a better cover story than making up a place that didn't exist. Do you not think that you would have been able to find something on my existence?" He spoke softly, doing his best not to sound hostile.

"You did not plan for this," Leliana began, "Whatever happened at the Conclave was not something you could have expected, so you were unprepared. You came up with the first story you could when you found yourself with us." The fact that she was bothering to try and refute his argument at all spoke well enough, though he wasn't out of the fire yet.

"And yet I stayed. I had many opportunities to run, even with all the people you probably had watching me. While I was here I could've done innumerable things to damage you, but I didn't. In fact, I like to think I've helped a bit." When he first arrived, he'd been given an escort to most places to watch him. Even after the battle at the Breach. He'd gone around helping people with various menial tasks, unpacking boxes, delivering supplies, gathering herbs. Small things, at first. Then, when he'd gone to the Hinterlands, he'd managed to do much more. Cassandra he knew was reporting of him to the advisors, and he hoped that she had spoke of his willingness to fight for them.

Now Leliana leaned forward, "What you speak of is impossible. Magic portals, perhaps, but an entirely different world? Why have there been no visitors before? Why does the Chant not speak of it? There must be evidence of its existence. No, you persist in making up, as you put it, fantastiical excuses."

"Perhaps there is, somewhere. But perhaps it has been or was dismissed as heretical. As you said, the Chant says nothing of it, so many would likely refuse to believe such a possibility." He realised after a moment that part of the reason Leliana may have objected so strongly was because it was in Conflict with her religion. She was undoubtedly a devout Andrastian. "I do not intend to produce a conflict of faith. Perhaps even the Maker does not know of it. Maybe he didn't create it, and it is something outside of his realm of influence. I do not mean to imply that your Maker is not what the Chantry proclaims him to be. I am merely telling you what I know to be true."

Leliana set her jaw and stared at him, then looked away for what seemed to be the first time since he'd stepped into the room. "Faith," She said with the barest shake of her head. Her voice was carefully neutral. "You are asking me to take a lot on faith."

"All due respect, Lady Nightingale, there is a hole in the sky. Faith in new things may be exactly what we need right now." He said, not unkindly.

Leliana 'hmph'd and looked back to him. "What would you expect me to tell the Ambassador? And the Commander? That you are an inter-dimensional traveler?"

He winced, "I would prefer that you do not tell them at all. For the time being," He quickly amended, "It would create more problems than it would solve," He paused, glancing away as he collected his thoughts, "Give me a chance to prove myself. No matter where I come from, I truly am here to help. I believe that I _can_ help. If you give me the opportunity."

Leliana was once again silent, for much longer this time. As her silence went on, he grew increasingly sure that he'd have to run. He even went so far as to begin appraising the situation tactically. He could flip the table easily enough. The door wouldn't be locked or the two guards wouldn't be able to come in, so he could barge through. He'd have to act quickly, for there were probably more watching the door and the hallways -

"Very well," She intoned softly, interrupting his thoughts with the same force as if she'd flipped over the table herself. His face betrayed nothing as he stared calmly back, but inside his entire being paused in bated anticipation. "You have earned a chance. I will assure the other advisors, and I will be sure to call on you soon. Depending on the results of that situation, the Commander and Ambassador will know. But make no mistake, Atlas of House Vyn. I do not trust you." It was such a short confirmation, but there was more than just what she said. She'd be watching, obviously, and his position here was already precarious. She likely didn't believe him in full, which was understandable but not ideal. The fact that she'd given him an opportunity at all was a miracle.

"Of course, my Lady," He said, standing up. "By your leave, then?" He was careful to treat her as a superior, which, in terms of authority, she was. By giving him a chance to prove himself she had effectively recruited him as an agent under her command, thus rendering her authority over him more absolute than that of the Commander and Ambassador. An efficient tactic. He only wondered what kind of situation she'd put him in.

Leliana nodded in response, and he inclined his head before promptly turning and walking out the door. The two guards on either side tensed as he did so, but hearing no objection from inside, they merely watched him from beneath their metal helms. He could feel the distrust in their glares on his back as he exited the room. Leliana had particularly loyal agents, it seemed.

* * *

It was a few hours later that he was sat on the edge of the docks to the frozen lake close to the edge of the town. After the meeting with Leliana, he'd been left to roam much as he had before the Hinterlands. Occasionally though, he saw a civilian whose eyes lingered on him a bit too long and who tried to follow a bit too obviously. Other times he saw someone in a scout's uniform watching from a nonchalant position, seemingly with nothing else to do. A bit sloppy, if he was honest. No one bothered said scout, which was his first clue. The fact that he was lounging around at all was another. This was at heart a military outpost, not to mention a town with refugees and civilian inhabitants. There were always things to do. His instincts, born of being a commander several times himself, told him to berate the scout for being negligent and lazy, but he was not a commander here. He wasn't much of anything here.

Now, as he watched the wisps of snow carry across the ice like ribbons of frozen air, eventually drifting up to him, he thought that he liked it that way. For far too long he had been the object of too much fascination. It was never because of him, per se, but rather what he was. The legendary immortal, who had fought and won countless battles. A powerful sorcerer who could control the weather itself. A master of words and manipulation, a keeper of ancient knowledge and secrets. Sometimes the labels weren't even true; some people thought he was, in reality, a powerful monster, imprisoned long ago to keep the masses safe. Sometimes he preferred that, idea for it kept people from searching for him too closely. And often the sheer amount of rumours drew attention. He was alone in his later years because there was no possibility he could fit in anywhere else. Perhaps, if no one ever put a face to the rumours. But he could never let anyone know. He'd never be able to trust anyone.

Not here, though. He possessed a degree of anonymity here. Even if people knew who he really was, they wouldn't know the stories told of him. They would only know him by what he'd done for the Inquisition. In that, he had a fresh start. The creaking of the wood of the docks behind him interrupted his thoughts and he started, looking over his shoulder for the source of the noise.

"Sorry," The familiar voice of Eden called. She even looked guilty, brown eyes widened as she stared down at him. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The corner of his lips tugged upwards in the ghost of a smile, "Absorbed in my thoughts. This is the second time we've stumbled upon each other here. You still look like you've got something to say," His nonchalance seemed to put her at ease.

"Well, actually, I was just walking along, thinking. I wasn't watching where I was going and ended up here." She smiled sheepishly.

Atlas looked away, nodding his understanding. "You had a meeting, didn't you? To talk about the Hinterlands."

She nodded, "Yes. Among... other things." Here she sighed, shoulders sagging as weariness seemed to overcome her. "We're supposed to be headed to Val Royeaux soon."

"And you're nervous about it?"

"Apprehensive is the word I'd use," She casually sat upon a crate that had been there for the past weeks. He'd not bothered to find out what was inside of it. "It's been made clear that the Chantry doesn't like us, and in my experience, they can be more stubborn than... er, well, anything, really."

"That's why you're headed there in the first place," He responded. "To convince them that the Inquisition is worth heeding, if not supporting. You won't need to convince all of them. As long as some of them begin to _doubt_ the picture that's been given to them by their fellows, it will have been worthwhile." As he finished, Eden gave him a curious look. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just... Mother Giselle said something very similar."

"She seems like a smart woman, then." He said with a smile, which elicited one from Eden. It faded far too soon for his liking.

"They look to me to make decisions. But I'm not even supposed to be leading. I'm a... figurehead. I've no experience. I'm no leader."

"You are a Herald," He said gently, "which means people expect you to speak. By decisions... what do you mean?"

Eden sighed, casting her gaze out across the lake. "We need to close the Breach. Right now, that's the most important thing. But we can accomplish that in one of two ways; by seeking out the mages or the templars. Commander Cullen advocates the templars. But Leliana and to a lesser extent, Josephine, think the mages would be better. But it's... both of them can do it. I don't particularly see why we can't gain the support of both, but right now we can't even gain the attention of either. We have little influence. It's why we're going to Val Royeaux." She fell quiet, and it took him a moment to realise she was silently asking for his opinion.

"Well... it's certainly a conundrum. There are benefits to both. The Templars are the practical choice. They have the training and discipline, and gaining their support would no doubt make the Inquisition a force to be reckoned with. The Chantry, for one, would likely be forced to recognize our - the Inquisition's validity."

"But?" She implored, looking at him hopefully.

"The mages are the moral choice." He continued. "I have seen nothing in my time here that would suggest they deserve their fates. Their rebellion, while gone about terribly, is rightfully sought. Their violence of late is a product of their containment, not the reason for it. Are there outliers from 'peaceful' mages?" He asked rhetorically, continuing before Eden could respond, "Of course. But is the answer to that locking them all up and stripping them of their rights? Absolutely not. They've been oppressed for too long." He opined.

Eden said nothing for a few moments. Then, "You feel strongly about it."

He didn't respond right away. Oh, he could have. He could tell her of his people's history, of a time when magic was a birthright to all, of a time when it was wonderful. When magic was simply another part of the curriculum for the young. Magic blended with anything and everything. He wondered if things in Thedas had always been so. Things had changed in his home, and not all of what was still is. Even so, finding things here to be so _different_ from what he knew was a rude awakening.

"I feel strongly about a lot of things," He said instead, more or less avoiding the question.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but the tug of her lips towards a smile belied her seriousness. He responded in kind, an easy smirk finding its way into his expression.

"Do you know how soon you're going to Val Royeaux?" He continued before she could question him further.

Her smirk faded and she shrugged. "No. The next few days, probably. Tomorrow or the next. It's up to the Big Three, really, I'm just along for the ride."

He wanted to correct her, because he knew that would not remain the case for very long. She had adjusted to this new environment immensely well, far better than he would have thought one's average noblewoman would. Eden was far from an average noblewoman, though. He didn't want to be the one to tell her of the responsibility that was waiting for her. Perhaps he wouldn't need to. Perhaps they would close the Breach and all would be well. Perhaps, perhaps.

"You should be getting some rest, then. Relish the bed you have while you can. Not everyone can get so easily used to sleeping in a tent, after all. And besides, I wager the experience will take a few years off your life. Arguing with the obstinate can be like that." He accompanied his statements with a small smile.

"Oh. If you're so eager to be rid of me, then." She responded, but there was no heat in her words. "I'll be seeing you, Atlas." She stood and offered a parting wave and smile.

"And I you, Eden." He inclined his head as she turned heel and walked back towards Haven proper. He didn't have any particular inclination to see her go; he'd quite like to get to know her better. Still, he needed to meditate.

He did not know enough to even postulate what the Nightingale's task for him could be. Stars, he couldn't really postulate much of anything. He simply knew too little. He had read history books and folk tales, but he had not lived in this reality. He was still adjusting to this place.

It was times like this he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake, jumping into that portal. He still wasn't entirely sure if he had. But he thought things could be better here. He hoped. And right now, hope was a precious commodity.

He closed his eyes to the frozen lake and emerald wound in the sky. He drew his legs up to a more comfortable position and took a few deep breaths, looking for answers in the silence of his meditation. And it asked, like it so often did, for him to wait. And so he did.

* * *

 **woo. it's been a hot minute, folks.**

 **I can't really apologize, because I literally warned all of you in the first chapter that things like this might happen. Even so, I've gotten a bit of inspiration recently and people have still been favouriting me and this story, so I thought I should come back.**

 **I haven't done so at the time of writing, but I plan on going back and rewriting a few things. Namely, the dialogue between Solas and Atlas, because there's so much juicy details and dramatic irony to be had. I'll change other stuff as I see it, but it won't be anything too major.**

 **I recognise that Atlas is a bit of a mystery. I put in hints and glimpses of his world and his people but much of it will not be revealed in the story until later. That said, if any of you wish to know specifics about his world, ask me. as long as it doesn't reveal anything pertinent to the story i'll be glad to tell you. i'm quite fond of the world and species I created there.**

 **cheers,**

 **Exci**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Surprise.**

Eden, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric had all left for Val Royeaux three days previous, which meant that the only people who didn't treat Atlas with distrust were halfway across the continent. Oh, there was one or two people: Harritt, the blacksmith, didn't seem to care much for his status or how others treated him, but he was also too busy to care overmuch for anything else.

Adan, the alchemist, was much the same, on all accounts. Except, instead of lack of concern, his overabundance of work translated into a general dislike for anyone who wasn't an Advisor or a bottle (whether it was filled with alcohol or a healing potion didn't seem to matter much). As a result, he was limited in his socialisations. Fortunately, he was used to that.

He practiced his swordplay often, as far away from the multitude of tents as possible after he had garnered a host of dirty looks and suspicious gazes the first time, not the least of which was from the Commander. It could've been because he was using the same practice dummy Cassandra normally did - maybe they considered it 'reserved' for her sake. Or maybe they were jealous of his fighting style. Yes, that was probably it.

His initial anxiety in the anticipation of Leliana's assignment had faded surprisingly quickly, replaced by a cooldheadedness and general 'whatever shall be, shall be' attitude, meaning that he had done, more or less, nothing besides practice, meditate, and.. eat. It had been a few Thedosian days since last he slept, and he wagered his 'time' would be coming soon.

It was uncharacteristic of him to be bored or impatient. Even so, Haven was surrounded by an atmosphere of restlessness. There was always more to be done, more to be worried about, another mission to plan, prepare for, or undergo, or more training. It was the world they were fighting for, after all. The feeling penetrated the cloud of even his thoughts, and he was left with the sense that he should be doing something. Unfortunately, he reminded himself, that something was not as forthcoming as he might wish. Or so he thought.

In Solas' absence, there was no one to contest his claim to the dock at the frozen lake. It had no value to those at Haven, and they tended to avoid the strange outlander anyway. So he knew it was important when he heard a runner encroach upon the unspoken limits of his domain, the crunch and crackle of snow beneath boots heralding his approach. An elf, he thought, for they were light steps, and quick. He waited to turn until the runner stepped onto the old wood of the pier.

He was correct; it was indeed an elf come to speak to him. He was rather unassuming, but then most of his body was hidden. He wore the armour of a scout, complete with close-faced helm with a wide open slot allowing him to see the brown eyes of his new conversational partner.

"The Lady Nightingale has requested your presence for a briefing. Follow me." And so he promptly turned heel and set off. Well. So much for that conversation.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and followed after the elf through Haven. They reached the tent set up in front of the Chantry that Leliana was almost always inside of, for some reason. Sure enough said devious, devout, and deliberate spymaster was hunched over a wooden table, various papers and maps sprawled about it. She stood and turned upon hearing them approach the mouth of the tent. The scout bowed his head and said, "My lady." and stepped back to the edge, but did not leave.

He watched the scout for a second longer but said nothing, turning to the woman and inclining his own head, but offering no greeting. He clasped his hands in front of him, and awaited politely for her to speak.

"You have already guessed why you're here, so allow me to tell you what are you going to be doing. I am sure you know of the Grey Wardens," He did, in fact, but because of his confession some days prior she probably only said it like that for his benefit. That was assuming she even _believed_ said confession, "but what you do not know is that they are disappearing. Several Warden outposts have been seen with few or none on the walls, and Wardens have been spotted in transit, but no one knows where they are going. One, however, by the name of Blackwall has been seen in the Hinterlands recently. Your first task is to make contact with him, and see if he knows anything of the Warden's disappearances." She fell quiet, waiting for his reaction.

He remained impassive, mirroring Leliana's own statuesque posture. He didn't comment on the nature of the task, but instead on her wording, "And my _second_ task?"

"Some of my agents have disappeared. I want you to find out where. If they're still alive, bring them back. If not, your team will know what to do."

"My team?" He questioned. He wasn't surprised, but he'd like to know who he was going to be answering to for a few days. He wasn't going to be in charge of anything, after all.

"The agents working alongside you are called Slicer, Flint, and Rider." One-word names. He wondered if any of them were called their true names anymore. Those titles were a barrier between their duty and what they used to be; remove as many connections as you can and in the end there will only be duty. It was common for spies and agents, but sometimes others fell victim to the loss of humanity.

His musings were interrupted when Leliana swiveled her gaze to her right, towards the scout who'd led him to the tent but hadn't left. "Rider," she spoke, and he stepped forward at last, "will be the leader of this mission." Rider inclined his head, and Atlas took the chance to take a proper look at him.

The fact that he'd been declared to any position of authority spoke of experience, for he'd've had to prove himself to Leliana in some way for that to happen. Indeed, as a spy should, he looked and bore himself as completely unassuming. Being an elf probably helped in that respect, but he held himself neutrally. He was accustomed to being out of the spotlight, in the shadows, unnoticed. His scout's uniform helped that, too, for there were many with it bustling about Haven. Rider wasn't looking at him, but instead to Leliana, and the t-shaped helm allowed him to see his eyes.

It was always the eyes. No matter how good a person was at disguising their body language or deflecting his verbal prodding, very few could ever hide their eyes from him. Leliana, he'd found, was one of them. Rider was not. He saw the unspoken communication in Rider's eyes, though he couldn't see Leliana's response. He saw only half the conversation but could glean enough from it to draw a conclusion.

Before he could ruminate on that, however, Rider turned and looked at him, and it was easy to tell he was assessing him. It was a quiet few moments where Atlas simply looked back at him, saying nothing.

"We leave after midday. Report to the stables." Rider spoke curtly, nodded to Leliana, then turned and walked away. Atlas watched.

"He doesn't like me." He spoke aloud.

"He doesn't like your presence. He could not care less about you." Leliana, surprisingly, responded and he swiveled his gaze to look at her.

"I wager you and he have that in common." To this, Leliana simply raised a single brow and turned back to her work. A small smile happened across his face, and he turned to prepare himself for travel.

* * *

His normal attire was hand-crafted, and the likes of it would not be found on Thedas, nor even probably in his own world anymore. Its maker had passed long ago, and while it wasn't a legendary piece of armour that granted its wearer magical benefits, it _was_ incredibly useful and suited for his specific style of... well, everything. Unfortunately, it was also distinctive. The gold filigree and runic engraving made it stand out, which simply wouldn't do on a discreet mission. He opted instead for wearing only part of the outfit, and procuring a cloak from the quartermaster with the promise that it would be returned when he himself did. It had been some time since he'd had to make do with sub-par provisions and he thought himself spoiled in that regard.

"I'm turning into a pampered noble. As if I've never gone without - getting old." He grumbled to himself as he put a pack together. Then he paused. "I'm grumbling about how old I'm getting. Gods, I really am getting old. It's a vicious cycle." He was talking to himself too. There was no escape from the self-criticism.

The stable was a busy place for understandable reasons, so the persons he was supposed to meet were not immediately obvious. He noticed at the far end, however, two sequestered individuals speaking lowly to each other. He was about to guess further from their hooded outfits - scouts' outfits, obviously - before they noticed him. One of them beckoned over. A male and a female, both around the same height, both human, both looking at him with eerily similar eyes.

"Are you Atlas?" The male spoke. His eyes flickered between them. Green eyes, short black hair - scratch that, the male had short hair, the woman just had hers up in a bun, - and sharp features. Oddly fortuitous genetics, but they were certainly striking.

"I am. And you are?" He began cordially, If he was going to be traveling with them for a time, it had better be on good terms, after all.

"Flint."

"And I'm Slicer." The female piped up, and he couldn't help but note that they _sounded_ similar, too. There was the general quality of voice, then the fact that they both spoke in a monotone. He sighed mentally. They were going to be _those_ kinds of spies.

"It's a pleasure." He inclined his head, and they stared at him. Joy.

"So..." Flint began.

"We've heard some things about you." Slicer finished. Were they going to start finishing each other's sentences?

"Oh?" He said, giving no indication of his inner thoughts. "Like what?"

"That you're a criminal who committed six murders in Denerim." Flint.

"That you're not even from Thedas." Then Slicer.

"That you won that sword in a game of riddles from a Dalish clan." Back to Flint. Before they could continue, he just laughed a bit.

"I do wonder where you're hearing these rumours from. Are you siblings?" He turned a question back on them before they could continue to bombard them.

"No." They said in unison. They traded a look. Atlas smirked. "Yes." They amended together, a bit of exasperation entering their previously toneless voice. Emotion, at last.

"Where'd you hear the rumours?" He pressed, still more amused than anything.

"The last one came from Varric." Slicer responded, which earned a look from Flint. He laughed again, both at Varric and their exchange.

"We were just messing with you, there." Flint said, apparently giving up the charade.

"So I noticed. And here I almost thought you'd be deadpan the entire time. It was going to be a boring trip."

"Eventually you'll wish it were so." A new voice chimed in behind them, and Atlas turned to see Rider approaching, looking no different than he had yesterday - with the exception of his helmet, which was not worn. He looked about as one might expect an elf would with sharp, angled features. Hair the same deep brown as his eyes was cut short and swept back. Unlike most elves, however, he bore the tattoos of the Dalish. Vallasen? Something like that; the Dalish weren't written about often, probably something to due with human prejudices and their own secrecy.

"Hello Rider." The siblings, whom he was beginning to think were twins, greeted the Elf. They seemed a bit happier than they had been when they greeted him.

Rider met his gaze neutrally, which was an improvement from the quiet animosity they'd borne earlier. "Are you ready to leave?"

"I am, yes." His pack was slung over his shoulder, underneath his cloak.

Rider gave him a once-over before nodding, then moved over to one of the horses, grabbing its reins. "This one is yours. A Ferelden Forder, answers to Castle. Don't injure him, the Inquisition is short on mounts." He spoke curtly before moving on to his own mounts. The twins had already prepared their own and were in the process of mounting them. Atlas moved closer and allowed Castle to get a sense of him and his smell before the horse shook its mane and allowed him on.

"Leliana did not tell me how long it'd be. I would assume longer than three days, since we're going to the Hinterlands." Atlas spoke up, settling his pack on the back of the saddle and finding a comfortable position.

"That's Lady Nightingale to you." Slicer spoke, though she didn't sound like she was rebuking him. Calling her by her title felt like giving her a measure of respect she hadn't yet earned, though. He needed her favour, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Perhaps he was too used to being the most prestigious one in any given room.

"It'll be quicker than three days. We've found some new trails." Flint continued.

"One day. Camps have been set up further in the Hinterlands proper, so we'll be able to resupply." Rider finished. He got the sense this wasn't the first time they'd worked together.

Atlas' gaze flickered in between them, but they didn't have anything else to say. "All right then. I am ready when you are."

"Ready." The twins spoke in unison. From the way they grinned in response to his look, they probably did it on purpose.

Rider directed his mount, a grey... well, he didn't know the breeds of Thedas, forward. "Let's go, then." He started onto the trail at a quick trot. So began their journey back to the Hinterlands.

* * *

True to his estimate, night fell when they entered what could be considered the Hinterlands, the forestry surrounding them growing thicker and signs of fighting seen faintly in the distance if one looked. The sounds did not accompany the sights, fortunately, meaning that the Inquisition's presence had done some good. The trails they'd taken had helped their travel time, but he thought it was instead the pace Rider had set that shaved off two days. When he'd gone with Eden and the others they were, for the most part, traveling at a horse's walk.

Their ride was fortunately uneventful, though he had at one point heard some bears in the distance. They camped at an Inquisition camp, setting up their horses and taking a rest. Or, rather, the others did. Atlas lay awake for the night, feeling some tiredness creep into his limbs, but not enough to truly fall asleep. Tomorrow, he thought, he might finally be able to sleep. It was longer than normal since his last, probably a product of strange activity and this entirely strange environment.

They set out on foot the next morning to find the Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. He wasn't actually that far from the camp they were at, residing in a small house by the dock of a lake. As they rounded said lake, they noticed not one but four people in front of the building, three in an orderly line and one pacing in front of them. Atlas could see, however, that the one in front bore the symbol of the Wardens on his chest. The others all had swords and axes of cheap make and wooden shields.

"Hold back," Rider spoke to them while they were still several dozen metres away, and they obliged, while he walked forward to speak with Blackwall. He could hear Rider saying Blackwall's name, at which point Blackwall strode forward to meet him, body language speaking of alarm. Past them, Atlas spotted movement, but before he could call out a warning, an arrow was fired, which Blackwall caught on his shield. He noted that the arrow would have hit Rider had Blackwall not reacted in time. By some mutual agreement, he and the twins surged forward.

"Conscripts, here they come!" He heard Blackwall say, a deeper, gravelly kind of voice. He must've been speaking to the three men. From the treeline, several men poured out, obviously bandits. Eight, Atlas among them, moved to meet them, and the battle... well, he couldn't really call it a battle. They were matched in numbers, but far outmatched in skill, and it was over within a few moments. Atlas had done nothing but knock one on the head, moving him in time to get stabbed by Slicer. Fitting name. Flint had a bow drawn some several feet away, and some of the bodies had what he presumed were his arrows.

He looked over to see Blackwall kneeling over one of the fallen bandits, muttering something to himself. He stepped over to the three. They were practically boys, dressed in farmer's clothing. They didn't look _comfortable_ with their arms, but they looked like they at least knew how to hold it.

"Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn't have happened. They... well." He hesitated. "Thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole," He pointed out, to the deeper Hinterlands, "go back to your families. You saved yourselves." They were wearing farmer's clothing because they _were_ farmers. That made sense. They traded looks, hesitant, but eventually began nodding. They offered thanks and continued on, and Blackwall turned to face them.

"You're not farmers. Why do you know my name? Who are you?" He looked at each of them, but settled on Rider.

"We're representatives of the Inquisition, trying to find out about why the Grey Wardens have disappeared and if they have anything to do with the Divine's murder." Rider answered curtly, wasting no time. He hadn't known the second part.

"Maker's balls - the Wardens and the Divine? That can't - no, you're asking, so you don't really know." Blackwall seemed alarmed at what he'd been told, and he began pacing slowly. "First off, I didn't know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political." His tone turned more resolute towards the end.

"We're not here to accuse, Warden Blackwall. We just want to know what happened, and where the Wardens have gone." Rider was diplomatic, at least.

"I haven't seen any other Warden for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is dead." He continued on about treaties and such, mentioning why he'd 'conscripted' the farmers and trained them. It was noble, at least. "Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are." The last sentence stuck out to him, mainly because of how Blackwall said it. He sounded as though he were quoting someone, and his eyes got a look that Atlas knew well. Sorrow.

Rider sighed. "Well... thank you, Warden Blackwall, but this didn't tell us anything. We'll take our leave now." Rider nodded to him then turned, and he heard the twins shift to follow. Atlas stayed, through, watching Blackwall, and then Blackwall looked at him.

"It doesn't have to end here." Atlas spoke, and Blackwall furrowed his brow. He heard Rider stop and turn behind him.

"The Divine is dead and there is a hole in the sky. Events like these - thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me." He looked at Atlas expectantly, then behind him, to Rider. Atlas decided to respond anyway.

"Join us, then. Go to the Inquisition camp, near here, and tell them you're there to help. They'll send you to Haven." He had no idea if that was true, but he was certain they couldn't turn away the Warden's help. He'd only read of them, but they were supposed to be skilled warriors and of strong character. Blackwall held his gaze a moment longer, and Atlas saw more than sorrow - he saw guilt. Then the man nodded, and turned away.

"You don't have the authority to do that, you know." Rider said as he turned. He didn't sound angry, though, merely observant.

"I'm friends with the Herald," She'd hate if she knew he was calling her that, "she'll support my decision." He grinned cheekily.

Rider gave him a look he couldn't quite pinpoint, but just shook his head and turned away, hopefully amused. The twins seemed to agree with him, though.

"Where are we off to next, then?" Flint asked. It seemed he wasn't the only one given an ambiguous briefing. Rider, at least, knew everything.

"Further into the Hinterlands. Another day's travel, where we'll search for our missing agents, find what we need to, then return to Haven." It sounded far too simple when phrased like that. He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

 _Smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. Distantly, screams could be heard, and the clang of metal on metal. Indistinct details, but they remained the same. The environment changed; in one moment a forest, in the next, a swamp; after that, the plains. A mountain and a great beast straight out of legends, lightning and fire and ice coalesced into a single creature that could wield them all without effort._ _A ruin of their heritage and a man he called a brother, once a friend, now on the opposite end of his blade. It didn't have to be this way. It shouldn't have been this way._

 _They could kneel before him. Armies, worlds, bending the knee in fealty to his throne. To him. He could wield the power -_ should _wield the power. He had the only right._

 _The scene shifted again. Gone were the delusions of grandeur, replaced by mud and grit and blood and sweat. He was equal yet greater here, another body amongst the rest. And yet how many of the bodies were there because of him? Too many. But it was necessary._

 _Another shift. Darker. The sounds were gone, replaced by a silence that managed to be worse. He tried to move, and the chains shifted, the metal cutting into his wrist. The aches set in, and he could feel the sweat - or was it blood? - slide down his chest._

 _Another shift. Familiar. Not terrible, not at first. A balcony, overseeing a forest. His safehaven. But it was only physical. Here had time to think, but too much time and he'd end up simply thinking himself to death. He was alone here - and that was the problem. Alone. It was better that way, though. For whom? For the world? For himself? Could he expect to waste away here rather than erode his sanity engaging in the conflicts that drove him here in the first place?_

 _He was asleep, but the nightmares had stopped. Or... halted. What was this place? It looked his like home back in Aethys. But it was indistinct. Everything felt blurred - and if he were back home, he would be able to feel it. He felt magic here, but not the kind he was used to. This was too confusing, but intriguing at the same time. Was this the Fade that he'd read of? It was said that mages could visit this place in their sleep. He felt something - behind him. Something watching. He turned to meet it -_

He opened his eyes to the top of his tent. He blinked several times. He looked on either side of him. His sword was where he'd left it, as was his pack. On his left were the pieces of armour he'd removed to sleep. He was awake now. He sat up.

It had been some time before he had had nightmares. Of the wars, anyway. He suspected they would get worse the more he got involved. He heaved a sigh. He only hoped it didn't get too bad. He'd heard of it overcoming the Arkanii of old - a madness that came from so many years of living, of conflict and struggle and experience. Meditation helped, for it didn't carry with it the possibility of dreams. There were probably coping methods written in ancient medical texts, but of course, he didn't have access to those.

He got ready quickly, stepping out of his tent to Slicer sitting on a tree stump. She was on watch, it seemed; they hadn't needed it when in the Inquisition camp and they probably didn't quite trust him enough to have him watching them while they slept, despite all appearances. She'd evidently heard him shuffling around in his tent, for she offered him only a wave before going back to inspecting her shortsword. Finding no spot like hers, he placed himself on the ground a few feet away.

"You're an odd bloke, you know." Slicer broke the silence, speaking quietly. Atlas smiled.

"I get that a lot. Why do _you_ think so?" He looked up at her expectantly, glad for the conversation to distract him.

"No one actually knows where you've come from. Lady Nightingale set you on this mission for a reason, but I get the feeling she doesn't know who you are either. Rider is curious about you. Even Varric Tethras is making up stories about you."

"Varric Tethras makes up stories about everyone, I think." He countered, not responding to her other statements. He didn't know what to say yet.

"Only the interesting ones. The ones people talk about. People talk about you." She pointed a finger at him as though to accentuate her point.

"And here I thought they'd be too busy talking about the Herald."

"Well, obviously they talk about her more. She fell out of the hole in the sky. But I'm not talking about her, I'm talking about you. Because you're right in front of me."

Atlas pursed his lips, moving his hands behind him and using them as supports to hold him up as he leaned back. "What's your point? Trying to find out what's truth and what's fiction?"

Slicer shrugged, and moved to sheathe her shortsword. One of two, he'd noted. "Little bit, yeah."

Atlas 'hrm'd. "Tell you what; we'll trade. I ask you a question, you ask me a question. Sound fair?"

Slicer narrowed her eyes, the green managing to be seen in the dark of the very early morn. The sun would be coming up soon. "Alright. I'll go first." He gestured towards her as if to say 'go on'. "Where'd you get the sword?"

"It was forged for me by an old friend. It's a very special sword - has a name and everything. It's been my companion for some time."

She raised a brow, probably at the notion that one could consider a sword a companion, "Oh really? What's its name, then?"

Atlas raised a finger, tsk-ing. "Two questions at once. It's my turn." She snorted, leaning back on her stump but acquiescing. "Have you and your brother worked with Rider before?"

"Aye. We've been with Rider for a while, even before he worked for Lady Nightingale. My brother and me, and him." Interesting. That implied a deeper loyalty - perhaps Rider had taught them, or saved them from the life of street urchins. "What's the name of the sword?" She continued without much room for him to comment on her answer.

"Albitr." It sounded like 'all-biter' in the common tongue, which was fortunate, as it wouldn't raise questions about sounding weird. The actual meaning was a bit more morbid - and grandiose.

"Bit of an arrogant name for a sword, innit?" She responded.

"Perhaps. It's apt, though. It's a sword, after all." Explaining all the philosophy that went into the name was entirely unnecessary, and would take too long. Before he could ask his next question, their short conversation was interrupted by the shuffling of movement in the tent behind them. He turned to look and saw Rider exiting his. He took a moment to glance between them.

"We're going to be setting off - get packed up." He moved to take down his tent.

"I'll wake Tweedle-dee." Slicer sighed and stood, moving towards Flint's tent. The name was probably a personal reference, because he'd never heard of it before. He went about taking down his own tent.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Atlas spoke up a few minutes later, sat atop his horse. Their pace this time was slower, presumably because they were already in or near the area they needed to be searching.

"I don't know their exact mission, but the agents reportedly had a lead on their task in this area. They mentioned an abandoned stone building nearby, and they were going to investigate and then keep moving. Odds are they were mauled by a bear. Or demons in the area." Rider answered.

"A bear? These were trained agents, weren't they?" Atlas responded, brow furrowing.

"The Hinterlands have very big bears." Rider responded simply, which elicited a further frown from Atlas. He'd met a few bears when he'd been here last, and they _had_ been fairly large. The demons were more troublesome, as it meant a rift, which meant only Eden could close it, and she was quite a ways away.

"Looks like the trail goes off a ways." Flint, from their left, noted, pointing to a less-noticeable portion of the ground that had been walked one.

"So it does. Let's follow it, then." Rider declared, nudging his horse that direction. The woods there were much thicker than the other parts of the area, much more... wild. Older, probably. Their horses had little trouble stepping over the vines and small shrubs that had grown, though.

They traversed in silence, accompanied only by the sounds of the forest, and eventually the sound of the horse's foot on the ground changed. Stone slabs had been set into the forest floor as to denote a trail, which meant they must be getting somewhere. At a glance, the stone looked normal, though a closer look as they passed revealed that symbols were carved into each of the slabs.

"D'you recognise the stone, Rider?" Flint inquired.

"I do. Looks Elvhen." He spoke shortly, but he sounded positive about the fact. Not quite happy, but perhaps, pleased. He noticed a slight difference in the way he pronounced 'Elven', as though with an accent.

"Oh, your favourite, then." Slicer piped up. Rider exhaled sharply through his nose, presumably in amusement.

"My specialty." He countered. "I might even give you a history lesson." It was the first time Rider had actually opened up in conversation, despite their previous journey taking two days. He had commented previously on the twins' conversation (and occasionally Atlas was compelled to do the same) but had kept silent. He assumed it was merely part of his character as a spy.

"I hope it's not another boring one." Slicer said.

"Or morbid." Flint added.

"The Emerald Graves may have been morbid, but it is a very important part of history that the humans neglect to teach." Rider retorted, sniffing. He knew of the Emerald Graves as the location of the Exalted March against the Elves. Lethiel, he remembered, had had an old tome on the subject that told a less biased view, or as he put it, "None of that bigoted, human-centric nonsense," Ah, he missed those conversations.

"And besides, if it's a ruin, odds are I won't actually know much. The Hinterlands isn't exactly rich with Elven history, and it's been some time since I've been taught." Rider continued. Atlas watched the exchange in quiet amusement.

"Never stopped you from commenting on the 'shems'. As if you never left your Clan." Flint said. Rider merely waved a dismissive hand at this, and they lapsed into silence once more.

Through the trees, as they continued, they could distantly see a stone structure that was likely the Elven ruin Rider mentioned. Indeed, the trail soon opened for a full view. It was quite old, for the foliage had almost completely overwhelmed it. The statues, few though they were, had fallen into disrepair, with large chunks missing. The main body of the ruin was in a similar state, with portions of the walls scattered into rubble, leaving breaches through which one could enter. Nonetheless, it had a kind of timelessness to it, an energy that buzzed at what little magic he could still access. He wondered briefly if all of the ruins were like this.

"And here is the location we've been sent to find." Rider announced, moving his horse to one side and sliding off. He began to hitch it to a tree, and the rest followed.

"It's quite beautiful." Atlas spoke, glanced up and around them.

"Most of the ruins are like this. Some are bigger, though. Wish we could've seen them when they were whole, though." Rider said from ahead of him, wistfully. "We need to get down to business." His tone took a more serious edge, and he recognised the shift in mood. "Let's check inside."

Despite the beauty of the outside view, they were all cautious as they stepped inside. Atlas' hand was on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it if necessary. Flint had a hand near his dagger, bow slung over his shoulder, and Slicer held her hand near her own shortsword. Rider had his hand on his scabbard, glancing around.

He couldn't tell with certainty if there was no one there at that moment, but it looked like someone had been there. A wooden table was upturned, and next to it, a single chair. An arrow was embedded in the wood. Nothing was on the floor except stone rubble. There were open doorways on the left and right leading deeper into the structure. A statue of a wolf was on either side of the room, in much better state than those outside.

"We'll split up. You two go together. Atlas, you come with me." Rider spoke, and his voice didn't quite _echo_ but it did seem louder as a result of breaking the silence that had settled. The pairings did make sense, though perhaps he found it odd that Rider would willingly be alone with him. Cordial he might've been, but it was more of a tolerance for his presence than anything.

They went to the room on the left, which itself had another door on the right leading to a staircase. Perhaps this ruin was bigger than it seemed from the outside. This room had cabinets that were obviously not native, and the two silently went about searching them. As Atlas glanced over at Rider, he noticed a light frown on his face as he searched the drawers.

"You don't like the fact that these are here." He noted silently.

Rider paused, looking to him with an unreadable expression, then went back to searching. "No. I'm not a part of a Clan any longer, but I take my heritage seriously. I doubt any Dalish would bring cabinets and desks into an Elvhen ruin, which means someone else did, probably human."

"Wouldn't be our scouts, would it?" He inquired. The desk so far had been empty.

"No. We wouldn't set up here - too obvious. And it's disrespectful - ah." Rider stood, clutching a piece of parchment in his hand. He unraveled it and read it to himself, frowning as he did.

"What's it say?" He inquired after giving Rider a moment to read it. Rider didn't respond immediately.

"Something about tests. They discovered the scouts and brought them here to... use them for those tests. It's short. From a person only named as 'S'." Rider spoke curtly, before rolling the parchment back up and putting it in his pack. "Keep searching, perhaps we'll find something else." Rider moved elsewhere to conjure a torch. The braziers on the walls were removable, but it took a minute for him to get some flint (Ironic, Atlas thought) to light it again.

They moved down the staircase, to a single room below. In the middle was a long stone pedestal, which reminded him of a ritual dais that bodies would be placed on. Sure enough, as they moved in closer, there were small splatters of blood on the edges of the pedestal. A wooden table on either side of the room.

"It's as if they furnished the entire place." Atlas remarked as Rider moved to inspect the tables. Atlas knelt next to the pedestal, inspecting it. Nothing was abnormal about the pedestal itself. The blood was dried, but was perhaps a few days old. He glanced to the ground, noticing the light from Rider's moving torch glinting off of something. Shards of something. He furrowed his brow as he picked up one of the shards to inspect it closer. It was a dull crimson, with a touch of black running through it.

"Rider," He called, beckoning him over. "Do you know what this is?" He held the shard closer to him for him to look at it. Rider developed a similar look of confusion as himself before shaking his head.

"No. Save it, though. We might find someone who does." He moved over to the other table, while Atlas pocketed some of the shards in an empty pouch on his belt.

"This room is empty," Rider added a moment later. "Let's go see if the other two found anything." Atlas nodded, giving the room a last look before following Rider out of the rather ominous room.

The twins were in the center room, empty-handed. "Nothing?" Rider inquired as they met. The twins shook their head.

"None of the furniture, either. Another staircase, though." Flint began.

"There were some cells and some blood in the ground, nothing else. Just another old room." Slicer finished. Rider frowned, glancing around.

"I found a note that said the scouts were found, but not what became of them. We'll go back, and look around the area, then start heading back depending on what we find." _If anything_ , he didn't add. He didn't postulate on the scouts' fates, which was probably for the best. 'Tests' didn't sound like anything favourable. The twins took him at his word, heading out towards where their horses were hitched. Rider cast another glance around the ruin, met Atlas' gaze, gave him a nod, then moved out.

Atlas, too, looked around as though something would reveal itself before walking outside. Oh, but he did have a bad feeling about this.

* * *

 **urprise. I mentioned that sometimes I lose motivation for my projects, and that's exactly what happened. I've regained some of my drive, however, mostly because I've started considering what I'm actually going to write, and am not just wanting to write for the sake of writing.**

 **Hopefully I know what I'm doing. I probably don't, but I think I'll manage to wing it along the way. I am a bit sorry for making you wait this long. I'm going to start writing the next chapter soon, but I don't know when I'll get it finished.**

 **Hope you enjoy.**

 **~Exci**

 **P.S.**

 **I see you shiver with antici...**


	8. Chapter 8

AN: ...pation

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Hae ye ever tried tae look in a forest fer anythin'? It's fuckin' impossible - oh look ah there's sommae interestin' - oh, no, surprise, it's ah stick. Would ye look there, it's another stick. Slice, guess what ah found?" Flint's accent got heavier the angrier he got.

"A stick?" Slicer replied, similarly annoyed with their lack of progress but far less vocal about it.

"No, a rock. Cannae guess what's next to it?"

"...a rock or a stick?" Slicer inquired, standing up from her formerly kneeling position on the ground.

"A fuckin' bug. There's rocks, sticks, and bugs. Probably a bear sommae, too. Welcome to ye olde Hinterlands. " The last part was muttered, but loud enough for everyone to hear. Atlas, being of a more patient temperament, found it supremely amusing.

His anger was, perhaps, exaggerated, but not unwarranted. They'd been searching for some time; perhaps an hour, judging by the sun's movement. Nothing. Atlas was not an experienced tracker, but even his sharp eyes could find nothing in the area surrounding the ruins, nor anywhere on the road. Whomever it was hid their tracks well. The road would've been a dead-end anyway, for far too many random people traveled it to accurately discern who might've been their suspected persons. Except, they had no idea who to suspect. Bandits? What use would bandits have for 'testing' on Inquisition scouts? The same could said for rogue Templars. The rebel mages, perhaps - some blood mages who wished for targets to enthrall.

Blood magic was strange. He'd been quite intrigued when he first found out about it, mostly because his universe had an equivalent. Thedas' blood mages were much worse than his, though. In his world, blood magic was just that: magic using blood as a catalyst. It carried with it some of the same dangers, chief among which was that living beings could be used as a power source for near infinite gain. It was outlawed long ago after the Aléssenyi War (before his time, but well-documented in history books) and the rampant use of blood magic that lead to almost catastrophic death tolls on both sides. Demons, however, were an entirely different business. They existed in his world, but in smaller quantities, and without some of the same risks. He had yet to fully understand and experience many facets the magical side of Thedas had to offer, physical demons borne of strong emotions manifesting and attacking him aside.

"Alright, alright," Rider spoke, drawing him out of his thoughts, "you've made your case. Lady Leliana might be disappointed, but what we found is all we have. Mount up, then." And with a single sentence, they all (some of them more happily than others) gave up their admittedly futile search in favour of heading back home.

They went back to where their horses were hitched, the twins talking (bickering) as siblings were want to do. Rider and Atlas began riding side by side, and continued to do so for much of the ride. Until, finally, Atlas decided to try for a conversation, or something of that nature.

"You know Leliana personally, don't you?" He began, nudging Castle closer to allow them an easier time of speaking.

Rider glanced to him, brow raised in a minute expression.

"Not particularly. Not many do. Why do you ask?" If he hadn't already deduced that it were true previously, Rider would've done a fairly good job lying and redirecting. He couldn't outrightly accuse him of lying, so he merely continued.

"The Inquisition hasn't been, for lack of a better term, alive, for long. There wouldn't be time to recruit and screen competent, let alone cohesive," He gestured behind him, well aware that Slicer was proclaiming Flint to be a twat and Flint was trying to hit her, "teams. Of soldiers, maybe, but certainly not of spies. Even if some of your number are not always the subtlest." They were not yelling, but whispering rather loudly words he was unfamiliar with; perhaps another Thedosian language there happened not to be an Aethan equivalent of.

Rider turned in his saddle and hissed a few short words in a similar language. They went silent and Rider turned back. The whispering started again, but quieter and more reserved. Rider didn't react, so he assumed this was normal.

"Lady Nightingale was the Left Hand of the Divine. We were in her service during that time, too."

Atlas quirked a brow. "The Left Hand of the Divine had a use for spies and assassins? More than that, the Divine did?" That sounded like it would be against several scriptures. He hadn't read the Chant, but he assumed the "no murder" bit was fairly standard.

Rider pursed his lips. "Not in so many words. Spies, yes. Assassins, no. At least... well. It's complicated. The Chantry is a religious organisation, but it's so old and so integrated into the country that its members can wield political power. So for the Divine to remain the most powerful member of the Church, she - and by she, I mean Lady Nightingale - needs to be kept appraised of her political allies and enemies. There's also the security of her life to be kept in mind. If something needs dealt with preemptively, then the Lady Nightingale will do so." He hesitated, "Or rather, would have. What with the Divine being dead and all." It was the most Atlas had ever heard him say at once, and it was surprisingly well-said.

"You've really got 'im talking then, have you?" Flint spoke up from behind them.

"Aye. Means he likes you." Slicer added.

"He only explains things to people he likes. Or people he thinks's stupid." Flint said. The twins went silent. Then they continued with their other conversation as though they'd never stopped. Rider and Atlas looked back at each other; Rider blankly and Atlas with an amused smile tugging at his lips.

"Truthfully, I was expecting getting you to speak to me was going to be harder." Atlas said.

"Hnph." Rider grunted. "Call it a feeling. Despite how you prevent yourself, I don't think you're as bad as some people want you to seem."

"Hm. Well, thank you. It's a refreshing change of pace. I'm hoping that with this, people might see me more favourably. Or at least, less unfavourably."

Rider exhaled through his nose sharply. "Not necessarily so likely. Instead of whatever they saw you as before, now you'll just be a spy. They know we're a part of the Inquisition, but they still seem to think we'll stab them in their sleep if they misstep." Rider delivered the statement neutrally, but he detected a hint of resentment in the words. He knew what that was like.

"Must be lonely." He commented, watching Rider, who was staring ahead. He didn't say anything.

Just as Atlas started to look ahead and settle back into silence, Rider spoke, "Not always. I've got a few unsubtle types to keep me company." He didn't do anything but look ahead, but he could tell he was referring, with a degree of fondness, to the pair some metres behind them.

Atlas smiled knowingly and began to respond, but something caught his ear. He glanced around. "Do you hear that?" He said calmly.

Rider glanced to him, then around, just as casual as he'd been before. "No. What?"

A slight rustle. A clinking and the barest hint of metal scraping on metal. "Armour. Behind us, somewhere. Maybe somewhere else." The sounds were quiet, which meant distance, and muffled by the sounds of the forest.

"Get ready to gallop, then. The pair will follow." Rider said, and Atlas nodded, then he heard a light whistle.

Flint exclaimed loudly, and Atlas reached for his sword, turning Castle to face the other two. Flint had been hit by an arrow in his upper leg, leaning down in his saddle. A terrible spot to be hit. Slicer was already moving to grab the reins of his horse and move him away. He turned to say something to Rider, but stopped in his tracks.

An arrow protruded from Rider's chest. He could see the fletching extend from his back, while the tip of the arrow was some bit out of the front of his torso. He had no idea how it had gotten through his armour; light as it was, it had some metal pieces to cover vital areas.

Rider slowly looked at him, opened his mouth to say something, then pitched forward and out of his saddle, onto the ground. He could see the arrow had probably pierced his lung and was dangerously close to his heart.

"Rider!" Slicer cried, and he glanced over. Flint had transferred to his sister's horse, still holding the arrow in his leg.

Rider was already dead, he knew. If he wasn't, he was unconscious and his pierced lung would be filling up with blood. Even if they didn't have an unknown group of hostiles to deal with, getting him to the camp alive would be unlikely. As much as it hurt him to admit, Rider didn't have a chance.

"Ride, Slicer! Get Flint to the camp!" He drew his sword and turned Castle around. Down the road, a group in silver armour exited the tree line.

"We're not - leaving Rider!" Flint responded, grunting in pain.

"You're going to die if you don't leave now. I will bring Rider with me after I handle them. Go." Atlas hardened his voice. Even from this distance, he could see the pain in their eyes. Indecision warred in Slicer before she glanced to her brother and his injury, then kicked her spurs into her horse, urging it to run.

He turned towards the group, and similarly urged Castle the opposite direction. It had been some time since he'd fought as cavalry, but fortunately his sword was ideal. He started from the side, trying not to let the archers - two, he saw, - get a shot on him or his horse.

It was Templars. Five or six rogue Templars, who for some reason were in the forest. They must have been traveling, or they'd have encountered them on the way to the ruins. The reason they were there wasn't important; merely that they would cease to be shortly.

He cursed his reflexes; he should've seen the arrow coming. He knew he could've. The whistle he'd heard wasn't a whistle, it was the sound of an arrow being let loose. The archers fired shots in tandem to make it easier for them to hit, but either luck was on his side or it had only been on theirs when they fired their first shots.

He swung his sword, batting an arrow out of the air just before he closed the distance. The templars had raised their shields and closed ranks around the archers, blades pointed around the corners of their shield. He skirted the edge of their formation, swinging low and putting his strength into it.

Evidently they had expected a human level of strength, not Arkanii, for the outermost templar stumbled back at the blow. They shifted to face him again, and he saw a break to allow the archers to peek through. If he wasn't careful, they would hit either him or Castle, both of which were not good things.

He veered his horse into the summer to allow for some cover as he turned back around. He came back out onto the road at full speed and employing the same tactic of coming from an indirect angle. He switched his sword to his other hand. Another arrow batted away, his form pressed against Castle to present a smaller target. As he got closer, another swing, this time towards the top, outer edge. It was the same templar, and although he might've been expecting some extra force, the top of his shield still tipped back from Atlas' strike, and his sword hit the templar's helmet, actually knocking him back to the ground.

Atlas kept Castle headed ahead, removed his feet from the stirrups, and hopped off the back of the horse as soon as he could, rolling with the impact. He turned to face them.

They hadn't moved except to draw their fallen comrade back, and to face him. Curses - they were at least somewhat intelligent. Had they run at him all at once, he would've had an advantage. Instead, he went to them. It was easier to watch for arrows from there and dodge accordingly, before they realised there was little point trying to shoot him.

Once he got close enough, they broke rank to try and surround him in a triangle, the archers sticking back and waiting for an opportunity. He waited for the first attack.

Behind - predictable. A thrust, natural since they had their shields. He darted to the right, the blade stabbing air and allowing him to turn. He used the torque to strike with more force the templar's extended arm. They were all wearing plate armour, but Atlas was both stronger than likely any human and bearing a sword of a more unique make than would be found in Thedas.

It didn't quite pierce the armour, but it dented it and certainly injured the templar, for he cried out and dropped his sword, drawing back. The other two attacked in unison, and Atlas merely used his footwork to carry him back and out of the way, then back towards them before they could recover.

He feinted high, then kicked low at the shield to throw him off balance. The feint he turned into a swipe at the second templar to keep him away. A wide, faster swing around the edge of the shield to swipe at his face. While he did that, he kept moving, trying to get around the shield.

The templar was overwhelmed by the speed and quick succession of his attacks. Atlas drew his sword back, then thrusted the edge forward to a chink in his ribcage. His sword found its mark, which was probably enough, but before he could ensure his opponent was dealt with, the other templar whose arm he'd hit slammed into him with his shield, forcing him away. Unfortunately for his comrade, the motion jerked Atlas' sword out of his torso, and he screamed and fell.

He looked at his aggressor, momentarily surprised by the shade of the templar's eyes, visible through his visor at this distance. They were startlingly, almost glowing red. Had they been they been that way before?

Heedless of his thoughts, the soldier continued with more aggression than he'd shown before, and certainly more strength. The other templar was moving behind him. He saw more movement in the corner of his eye - the archers.

He lowered his stance, and the templar came in for another shield slam. Utilising his speed, he darted around the attack gripping the edge of his shield with his free hand. With his sword hand, he curled his fingers forward to reach and grab his gorget((check this word)) and then yank him forward, also using the momentum from his attempted bash.

His intuition had been correct; two arrows fired at once struck the templar in his chest, and he grunted, stumbling. He didn't fall immediately however, which was surprising. Instead he attempted to sluggishly turn and jab him with the edges of his shield. Still his eyes glowed red, unnaturally so.

The attack was indeed sluggish, and Atlas merely pushed the soldier down to the ground. The last armoured templar was already moving to avenge his fallen comrade. In his anger, he'd forgone the more cautious approach of holding his shield and engaged with his blade first, allowing Atlas to simply and expertly parry the clumsy blow, and the soldier stumbled. Atlas ended his life promptly, blade slipping into the chinks in his armour. He fell over the body of the last-killed templar.

That left the two archers. They were several metres away, but hesitating considering their previous lack of success in hitting him and the fact that he'd just killed four of their comrades. The first one may not have been dead, perhaps unconscious, but his point stood.

"Go." He barked. "Take your comrades and I will take mine." He meant it; even if these were technically the ones who had killed Rider and injured Flint, he did not particularly want to kill them. He hadn't wanted to kill the others, either. Still they hesitated, anger warring with self-preservation. Finally they decided on the former. Bows were discarded in favour of a shortsword for each, which would've been useless in the earlier fight. Probably why they hadn't joined in.

He sighed, but surged forward to meet them. He could tell they were not as experienced with a blade, and probably did not intend to survive. Their offense was, to his eyes, clumsy, and a series of parries and quick swipes ended their lives, their armour not enough to protect them.

He stood after they'd fallen, breathing only slightly heavier, looking back over their bodies. Slowly, he settled his breathing into a rhythm. He looked over at the body of the very first he had struck, apart from the others. He walked over and knelt to look for a pulse. He was still alive.

Would it be crueler to leave him here? Would he even wake up? If he did, he'd be surrounded by the bodies of his friends - assuming he and they weren't looted after Atlas left. He couldn't take him with him, for he had the room only for Rider's body. He didn't know where Rider's horse had gone. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Once he opened them, he took his dagger from his belt and slit the man's throat. It was over in an instant. He would've felt nothing. He wiped the blood on the Templar's kerchief.

"I am sorry." He murmured, standing and looking at the other bodies as well. After a few moments of silence, he whistled. From behind him, Castle approached, stopping next to him. He beckoned the horse to follow and walked the distance to Rider.

Rider lay on his side, the arrow preventing him from laying on his back. He knelt down, and broke off one end of the arrow, and then the other. Removing it would just allow blood to stain him. He used his own kerchief to wipe the blood from Rider's lips, and moved him to his back. His brown eyes gazed lifelessly into the sky. Atlas gazed sadly down at him. He had not known him well. But he knew him well enough to get the impression that he was a good person. A mentor to Flint and Slicer. He reached forward and closed his eyes.

"Walk among stars, friend. Be at peace." He whispered. He took off his own cloak and lay it over him, wrapping it around his torso and head in a makeshift shroud. Then he went about picking him up and setting him on Castle's back.

"Hold fast, friend." He patted Castle then went back to the bodies of the Templars. The one with the glowing eyes had fallen underneath the other, which meant he had to heave the other's body aside and then turn him over to look at him.

His eyes were still red, but faded, and just as lifeless as they should've been. He could detect hints of green beneath the red, as though the red colour were just lenses over his eyes. He frowned, then went about searching him.

Nothing useful, just general supplies in his belt. Wait - an empty vial in a pouch. It had contained some kind of liquid; some kind of _red_ liquid, judging by the residue. Was this... lyrium? He'd read that Templars imbibed it for special abilities against mages, but he'd also seen that it was blue, not red. And yet, the vial was the same, and a templar had it on his person. On top of that, it felt... *wrong*. Perhaps it was what remained of his magical senses, but an energy tingled about this strange residue, and it did not feel natural. He gazed at the vial a moment longer before pocketing it and heading back to mount Castle.

He rode forward at a quick pace, but not quite a gallop. He didn't want to knock Rider off, and there was, technically speaking, no hurry. It was still a solemn ride.

He did not look forward to bringing Rider to the twins. He knew firsthand what that felt like. They hadn't known whether Rider would live or die when they left, so there was always that uncertainty. There would have been hope, however small. Which would, in turn, make reality much worse.

He continued riding in silence.

* * *

He could hear life, both of the forest and others, before he saw it. Then he could smell it; campfires and cooking, and odors of an unfavourable variety. Not unexpected, though. The Inquisition camp they rested at was just off the main road, and only a short detour remained between him and it.

"Hold there! State your name and business." A scout stepped forward from the edge of the camp, hand raised. Atlas slowed.

"My name is Atlas. I came with two other scouts of the Inquisition who should be here; Flint and Slicer." The scout lowered his hand as he acknowledged his words.

"Ah, you're him. They said there'd be another with you." His eyes flickered to Rider's body lying across the back of Castle. Atlas looked down.

"I could not save him." He responded honestly. He did not know what else to say. The scout merely nodded and waved him forward, grave. "Where are they?" He said as he got closer.

"Further in the camp. Flint, I think you called him, is being looked at by a healer. Slicer was gettin' antsy, had to keep her from taking a horse to go find you." Atlas stepped down from his horse.

"She wouldn't have been able to change anything." He said sadly. He reached around to heft Rider off of Castle, making sure his cloak still covered his features, and turned toward the camp, Rider held adjacent to him in both of his arms. "Point me to them. I should be the one to talk to them." He had done it before. Not in some time, but still, it wasn't something easily forgotten. The camp wasn't actually that big, though, and their approach was noticed.

He heard a choked sob and looked over to see Slicer moving to cover her hand with her face. She rushed over and Atlas simply stood, letting her approach. "No..." She whispered. She reached a hand for the cloak.

"Don't." he said gently. "I am sorry, Slicer. But it's not something you wish to see." Her hand paused in its movement, and she withdrew. He could see her jaw clench, and could see the tears only just kept from falling over the edge of her eyelids. "Go to your brother." It must have been the shock, for she mutely stepped back to comply. She hesitated.

"We... need to bu-" Her voice broke, "bury him." She finished.

"I will prepare that. Go to your brother. You need each other." He continued in a gentle tone of voice. She nodded a few times and turned to walk quickly back to her brother's tent. Several of the troops around camp had stopped to watch. He straightened, aware that he was holding a body in his arms. "I need a shovel, and a place to bury this man." He looked around, unsure of who could grant his request but willing to wait until someone did. A few moved to continue their previous actions, whatever they be, but one approached him.

"Follow me - uh, ser." He seemed unsure of his rank but placed him as someone in command. Technically... well, it wasn't even technically true. He lead him to spot outside of the main camp, a more flat earthen section. Two spots were clearly dug, the earth fresh when compared with its surroundings. From the ground, on each spot, was a plank of wood with several twigs extending out every direction from the center, tied on with twine. Perhaps a crude representation of the Sunburst mark of their Maker.

Another soldier was just ahead of them, with the previously requested shovel. "Set him down, ser, we'll get to digging."

"No." Atlas responded. He did lay Rider's body gently down, but then stood and looked to the pair. "Go back to your duties. I'll handle this." There was a moment of hesitance, but they seemed to understand his tone of voice. The one offered the shovel, then went back towards the camp. He spared a glance for Rider's body, and went to work.

It was not longer after he began that he heard two approach from behind him. Slow steps, and one an unsteady gait. The twins. He turned to face them, pausing with the shovel in the ground. Slicer's eyes were red from crying, and Flint looked more gaunt than a leg wound should've made him. He glanced down, sorrow filling him. Then he went back to digging. They said nothing.

He lowered Rider into his grave, and stood. Still Atlas' cloak covered his face and torso.

"There are no words that will lessen the pain." Atlas spoke at last. "Even so, I would offer a few. Remember him not as he is. Remember him as he was. Wise. Stern, yet kind. Compassionate. I did not know him well, but even I could see this. He cared for you both."

"We didn't get to say goodbye." Flint said quietly. He was sitting down, as was Slicer, for his leg wouldn't allow him to stand too long.

"He lives on in you still. You carry his legacy within you." They looked to him. He looked back, trying to communicate his earnestness as clearly as possible through his eyes. "Do you wish to say anything?"

They didn't respond right away. Then Slicer spoke up, "He found us as kids. On the streets of Amaranthine. He took us in. Showed us kindness when we didn't know what it was." She sniffled.

"Stern he was. But I've never known a better man, elf, or dwarf. Never will." Flint clenched his jaw and held his head up, but he knew that he was simply trying to appear strong. He glanced between them, then nodded, and went about replacing the dirt in the grave.

"Is there anything he'd want on his grave? For some reason I don't think the Sunburst would appeal to him." He spoke after it was done, trying to seem at least a bit more upbeat. It earned him a look, but not an unkind one. It was a start.

"He gave me a pendant. A while ago." She reached under her shirt and pulled out said pendant, looking down at it. Atlas glanced to Flint, who was staring down at it.

"Perhaps you should keep that." Atlas suggested. "Something by which to remember him." He looked back down at the grave.

"We should do more." Flint said. "He deserves more."

Atlas resisted the urge to sigh sadly. "I know, Flint. He does. But we cannot. Not now." Slicer moved to bury her head in Flint's shoulder. Atlas looked away.

"Go back to your tent when you need to. Rest. We'll head back to Haven when you're ready." They didn't respond. He turned to walk away, not knowing where to go.

So he walked around the edge of the camp in contemplative, stony silence. The others of the camp seemed to recognise him and left him alone. Or perhaps something in his demeanour simply dissuaded them from approaching.

'I couldn't save him', he'd said. But could he ever have?

 _Yes,_ something whispered. _You should have._

He wasn't the same here. He wasn't some 'legend' like some might have called him back home. He couldn't even use magic, for _Saha's_ sake. He came here to be something better, hadn't he?

 _You ran here. To escape your own power. In fear of yourself._

For good reason. He had done terrible things. Some remembered him as a hero, but he didn't even know if that was true. It was why he ran to dwell alone in the first place.

 _They should be afraid of_ _you._

He looked back to the camp. Activity continued as normal. They paid him no mind.

 _They should all **fear** you._

No. _That_ was what we was running from. He didn't want people to fear him. He didn't want anyone to fear him. He wanted... What did he want? Companionship? Friends? He had done well alone for several decades already.

Had he? He practically leapt at the first chance for something new. He turned to look out past the trees. If he concentrated, in the distance, he could hear the sound of metal on metal, an irregular rhythm that didn't fit the scenery. Could he hear farms burning if he tried harder? This wasn't new. This was... familiar. Frighteningly so.

 _You could change that._ A different voice. He could. That's why he kept with the Inquisition. He wasn't the same. He didn't know what he was. Mayhaps he could be better. None of that... 'fear' nonsense. He hoped.

He walked a bit back the way he came. The twins had gone back to their tent from Rider's grave, which was good. He walked back to the spot, gazing down at the man he'd buried.

It was... sad. His death. He felt sad. It took him a moment to place that emotion. It had been a long time since he'd felt it. Before it was all... misery and loneliness. Longing. Anger. Melancholy. But sadness was different. Only just.

"I'll remember you, Rider." He whispered. "And I'll take care of them. If they'll let me." Rider had been the twins' father, even if the word was never uttered by any of them. Took them in, she'd said. They'd been their own little family, in their own little way. He couldn't save Rider. The least he could do was save them. They would need time, though.

He wondered briefly how the trip to Val Royeaux was going. Hopefully better than theirs. Eden was not quite a diplomat, but what he had already seen she had a way of capturing people's attention. Not to mention the Seeker, and Varric would certainly speak up if needed. No, he said to himself, they would do fine. No reason to worry.

He walked back to the fire in the middle of the Inquisition camp, and sat. The sun would be setting soon. He'd volunteer himself for nightwatch. The twins certainly wouldn't be ready until tomorrow, perhaps later. He should send a raven. He couldn't imagine Leliana would be happy. He wondered if she felt for her agents, or if she'd trained that habit out of herself some time ago. He hoped not.

He began humming, and grabbed a stick to stoke the fire. Maybe he could make a stew if they had the ingredients. People liked stew.

* * *

 **yo yo yo it's ya boi Excisium back at it again with the three-month wait. ish. sorry for the sad chapter**

 **It's a shorter chapter as well, but basically what happened was I wrote the entire fight scene up until Atlas rides away on a plane ride, and I saw that i had just under 4k words when I thought it was going to be way more, was disappointed, and gave up hope.**

 **i hope you didn't grow too attached to Rider or anything. actually, i hope you did, because that means i wrote him marginally well. who knows, I could go GRRM and start killing off other characters. a Song of Rifts and Demons, bitch**

 **if you couldn't tell, i've lost any semblance of professionality with these notes. leave any other notes, comments, critiques, concerns, grievances, suggestions, rants, thoughts, or what have you in the form of a review. thanks**

 **~Exci**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I don't know if I've mentioned, but any spelling/grammar mistakes are my own. i don't have a scapegoat for those sorts of things. also i don't have anyone proofreading this, so if some stuff doesn't flow well. blame uhhh the gods.**

 ***shakes fist* the gods**

* * *

"And so I was getting ready to tell him off, but then he glowed for a second and then he was frozen. Like, seriously frozen. You could see the ice on his skin. It was kind of cool, actually. So anyway, then the woman who invited us to the salon in the first place, Madame Vivienne de Fer, walked down the stairs all graceful-like, and started talking about how he was disrespecting her guests and stuff like that. Which, you know, was quite right, but she sounded a bit smarmy while she was saying. She was the one who froze the bloke though - because she's the First Enchanter, you see, - and then she asked me what I wanted to do with him.

"Well quite understandably, I think, I wanted to slap him, but he was frozen so I thought it might've hurt me more than it hurt him, but then I realised she was asking whether or not I wanted to let him live or not, which I thought was a bit far. Because if I'd killed all the people who annoyed me I would've gone through governesses like horse goes through shoes when I was younger, and my brother would certainly be dead because he's quite annoying.

"But I'm getting off track - I told her that the man had obviously learned his lesson ans she unfroze him and he ran off. Then she took me into the private halls of the salon - it was a really pretty salon, but that's Orlais for you, if it's not pretty, it's dead. And even then it's still pretty. I suppose stone is actually dead. Marble, too.

"Well, Orlesians you know are quite talkative people, but they talk in that way where everything has double meaning, and not the fun double meaning like sexual innuendos - don't tell Josephine I said that - and so I got the sense that she wasn't being forward about much of her interests at all. I could tell she was trying to see what kind of person I was, though, so I made sure be coy and all. I've got experience with nobles, as you might know.

"She offered to join the Inquisition which took me off-guard but then I realised it made sense because that's essentially the only reason she'd invite me there. It was also a bit of a power move, because it was on her terms. I agreed, of course, because that was the rational thing to do, and I thought in that moment I'd have made Josephine quite proud of me and all.

"But we had another invitation of a completely different sort - you're a good a listener, by the way, thank you, - to attend to after that, and not too far. We were invited by some Red Jenny, or actually the friend of Red Jenny, I don't know who Jenny is, because they shot an arrow at us while we were in Val Royeaux with a note on it, and we found some red things, which all formed a map to this courtyard and a message that someone bad was after us and we needed to go there. It reminded me of something Varric would right, but he swore he wasn't behind it, so with little better to do, we decided to go to it after the party thing at Madame De Fer's.

"And we met with another noble. But the super smarmy kind. Madame de Fer possesses a degree of intelligence, but this bloke was doing a great impression of a balloon filled with hot air, his chest was out and everything. He thought he was some great enemy of the Inquisition, but before he could get any further an elf shot him in the face. It was very surprising, but kind of funny in a slapstick kind of way. And then some guards came along and we fought them - I don't really like killing but I do like fighting, but I suppose they were trying to kill us so it's fair.

"This elf was named Sera, and she was a very refreshing change of pace from all the nobles. I mean, she's quite crude, but in a good way. I certainly wouldn't bring her to any official Inquisition dances - ohmystars, I hope we don't have those. But yes, I'd certainly bring her to fight with me. She offered her services to the Inquisition, and I accepted. And then we left and now we're back in Haven. And that's where I've been for the past few days."

The cat blinked. Its attention had actually remained quite fixed on Eden the entire time she'd spoken, dull blue catching the candlelight in such a way that they sparkled brightly and gave Eden something to look at while she'd told her tale. Giving no indication whether it'd listened to her or not, the cat went about licking its paw and grooming itself.

The cat had been here when she'd entered her cabin and hadn't really moved from its spot on the desk across from her bed. She had, for no particular reason, begun speaking out loud, and once she'd gotten into her smallclothes (no one was here so she could get away with it; she'd locked the door to ensure no surprising guests) she had gone into full storytelling mode. The cat was a well-behaved audience.

"You're a girl cat, aren't you?" She stood and moved to pet it. Almost immediately, the cat begin purring. "Awww, you're so cute. Yes you are." Her voice had risen in pitch, attaining that tone one only ever reserved for small children and adorable animals. "You're the cutest little kitty. I shall keep you and name you... something. You're the best kitty. Yes you a-" A loud knock at her door caused her to jump and stop speaking. There was a beat of silence. How thin were these walls? Did whoever knocked just hear everything?

"Er... yes?" She called to the door hesitantly.

"Your Worship," an unfamiliar male voice began, "Commander Rutherford, Lady Nightingale, and Lady Montilyet request your presence in the Chantry as soon as you're able." Her shoulders slumped as she sighed.

"Alright, tell them I'll be there." She heard the clank of metal-on-metal, then shuffling away. Did the guy really salute her? He couldn't even see her. She shook her head.

"I suppose I'll have to now tell the advisors all about that. They'll insist on me being more specific, I'm sure. It's bound to be a dreadful meeting." She spoke offhand to the cat as she dressed.

They'd only just arrived back in Haven a few hours earlier, and the first thing Eden had done was grab something proper to eat rather than rations for the road. Then she'd gone to her cabin, which she'd originally felt off about having, but was now grateful for a place to be on her own. Space was limited in Haven, and the majority of the Inquisition stayed in tents set around the village itself. But as the Herald of Andraste (she had gotten to the point where she could avoid cringing at the title, but it was difficult) she could not be seen sleeping in a cot like a normal person.

Granted, she was not technically a 'normal' person. As a Trevelyan she'd lived in Ostwick with the rest of her family, which was by no definition 'slumming it'. She'd run away and slept in the woods surrounding the city on plenty of occasions, though. And plus, she'd been sleeping on the road a lot recently anyway what with all of the riding.

"I expect to see you here when I get back..." She said as she forced her last boot onto her foot. She hesitated, intending to call the cat by name but none came to her lips. "...kitty." She finished lamely. The cat mewed, and she patted its head. "Good cat." She turned away before her resolve melted and she went back to babytalking it.

She had gotten used to people giving her reverent glances and whispering about her surprisingly quickly; which is to say, she had learned to ignore it. She tried to give glances and smiles as often as she could, as she had no wish to make people feel ignored, but that didn't change the uncomfortable feeling their sentiments elicited whenever she heard them. Still, she made haste for the Chantry.

She took a moment before entering the room with her advisors in it. Surely there was a name for said room, as it was quite important. Stars, she liked everyone in the room, but she didn't particularly like these meetings. She took a deep breath, and headed in.

* * *

It went about as well as she expected. They were all clearly divided on which faction to go to - she'd forgotten to mention the part about the Seekers and the Grand Enchanter to the cat. Well, it wasn't a particularly interesting part of the story. Then again, maybe the cat would've had insight on which to meet with, as she hadn't missed the looks the advisors had all shot her when they discussed their own opinions.

Cullen, understandably, wished to go to the Templars. Leliana had clear inclinations towards the mages. Josephine was less open about her opinion on the matter, as she often resorted to acting as the mediator between the former two, but Eden thought she detected more sympathy towards the mages. Leliana and Cullen were practically irreconcilable on this matter, but unfortunately, Eden couldn't bring herself to pick a side. They both had perfectly valid arguments, but the situation was simply built on too many uncertainties for either side to argue from higher ground.

And she could tell that she would probably be the one to make the final decision. She had at least resolved that she would go to Redcliffe since she'd actually been invited by Fiona, while the Lord Seeker had made it quite clear what he thought of the Inquisition. That was something to think about, too - the Templars might not even be an option if Lambert didn't like them. For some reason.

She at least had some more immediate, smaller things to think about. For example, the smooth-faced mercenary she'd been faced with as soon as she exited the Chantry.

"Oh, finally. I've been trying to get someone to speak with me for an hour." He'd begun in an exasperated tone. His features were unfamiliar, which in itself wasn't surprising. She couldn't possibly know everyone, after all. But more than that, he looked Tevinter. They had a particular shade of skin and sharpness of facial structure. They usually didn't wear distinctly Fereldan plate armour, though. And his accent was - oh, stars, she hadn't even responded to him yet.

"Oh, yes, hi. What do you need?" She threw on a polite expression and hoped she hadn't been staring at him too long.

"I'm here as a... representative, we'll call it, from a mercenary company, called the Bull's Chargers. Name's Krem. We're looking to offer ourselves for the Inquisition's employ."

"Oh. That sounds like an intriguing offer. Where is the rest of your company, then?" She glanced around, as though they might come out of the stonework to introduce themselves.

"Right now they're doing at the Storm Coast. The Iron Bull, our leader, would like to meet you. If you'd like to see what the Chargers are capable of, then come down to see us in action."

"I... shall certainly consider it." She nodded. Krem seemed satisfied with this, then turned to walk away. She frowned. Okay, then.

She'd also been told of another who'd come to the Inquisition, a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. When she asked why he'd come, she'd been told that it was Atlas who'd recruited him, which was a bit surprising since she hadn't known he'd even left Haven while she'd been gone. Apparently he'd gone on a mission for Leliana.

While the thought of talking to Atlas sounded nice, she didn't know where he was. She did however know where Blackwall was: the smithy. And so it was there she was headed.

"Maker... it's so much easier to ignore when it's far away." was the first thing he said in a low, gravelly tone. He was a large man, clearly of a military build, and with a beard a dwarf could be proud of. His tone was solemn, though, and enough to prevent her from speaking any jokes she might've made. He was turned to look at the Breach with an odd mixture of awe and discontent, but he turned to her after a moment. "But forgive me, Your Worship. I haven't introduced myself." He inclined his head. "I am Warden Blackwall."

"Oh, ah, you don't need to use a title. I don't like them, myself. I'm Eden Trevelyan. You can just call me Eden." He carried a bit of gravitas around him, like she had always imagined a Grey Warden might. She had to admit it was a bit exciting, as she'd never met a Warden before. She hoped she didn't disappoint.

He seemed a bit uncomfortable at the familiarity, judging by the furrow of his brow, but didn't comment. Instead, he merely nodded. "Of course." He looked back up to the Breach. "You probably hear this a lot, but... you actually walked out of that thing." It wasn't a question, merely a statement.

"If the Inquisition soldiers hadn't found me, I'd have been demon food," She offered bashfully.

"Inquisition soldiers?" He raised a brow, "That's not what I've heard. I have to admit, I thought you'd be..." He hesitated.

"Taller?" She offered with a smile. It was true, she wasn't very big at all. Nor imposing, really. And a title like 'Herald of Andraste' tended to make one think of someone larger than life.

"Well... yes." He seemed bashful, though in a different way than she. "Forgive me - it's a foolish thought. It's what you do and how you do it that matters." He must have thought her offended. Or maybe he was just a serious person in general. He seemed nice, though. "Just one question: how do you think you fit in with all this?" The thought gave her pause. She looked around.

They were right in the smithy, so the dominant sound was the clanking of hammers on iron and steel, and the smoldering of the forge. But beyond that there were various soldiers, scouts, and assistants of the Inquisition, scurrying about, training, patrolling, or just standing and talking. They had more than when she'd first arrived, which was a good sign.

"I'm... here to help, I guess. I'm the only one who can close rifts." She held up her hand as she turned back to Blackwall. "I don't really know about all of this 'Herald' business. I have a time already speaking for myself - I don't know how I'm meant to speak for the bride of the Maker." She shrugged. "I suppose I'm here to help end the war. Peace is something most people can agree on, I think."

"A worthy cause," he agreed, "and one I'm happy to support. For me, I'll be satisfied so long as we find who murdered the Divine. They owe us some answers. If you don't mind, I'd like to go with you whenever you set off next - I've heard you do that, yes? I wouldn't be much good around Haven, but Wardens are trained for the battlefield. I'd like to help."

"That sounds most agreeable, Warden Blackwall. I'll be sure to inform you when I'm to leave next. Though I don't know when that'll be."

"Quite alright with me. Until then, Your Wor - er," he cleared his throat, "Lady Trevelyan." Well, it was a start. She couldn't expect him to abandon all formality.

"Until then, Blackwall." She smiled and turned to leave. He was a nice sort, she thought. Dedicated. But then, Grey Wardens kind of had to be, didn't they?

She caught a glimpse of black against the white snow in her peripherals, and she turned to see Atlas heading towards his dock. She slowed, before stopping and watching him go. Well, he seemed to like her well enough, hopefully he wouldn't mind her bothering him again. She also wasn't really sure what to do at the moment, and talking to him was as good a course of action as any.

She turned and walked that way, wrapping her coat around herself. This part of Haven always seemed colder than the rest. She stopped some several metres from the dock which Atlas frequented. Rather than sit and sharpen his sword, or… or whatever it was that he did here, maybe read, he simply stood. She saw him clasp his hands behind him, at the small of his back, and straighten. His posture was proper; it was a pose she'd seen soldiers and Templars alike take up on formal occasions. Her father as well, when he was deep in thought. Maybe he was deep in thought. Maybe she shouldn't interrupt his thoughts - yes, that was a good idea. She turned to leave.

"Hello there." She heard him call. She froze (heh, that was a pun, she thought). She turned to see him now facing her. The rigidity of his posture was still there, but she could at least see his face, which was inclined towards her.

She walked closer, so they wouldn't have to yell at each other. "Hi," She answered once she'd stepped onto the wooden walkway. "I hope I didn't, er… interrupt your whole… brooding thing." Brooding? That was the wrong thing to say - now he probably thought she was insulting him. "Not that you were brooding, of course, just that, you, you know, looked serious, and I didn't want to interrupt. Did I interrupt? Sorry." She babbled.

"It's quite alright," he raised a hand as thought to placate her. "I was just thinking. I didn't mean to seem unapproachable." He smiled. She smiled back - or at least she hoped she did, as she wasn't entirely in control of her faculties at the moment. She avoided looking at his eyes because she was certain those crystalline pools were the source of her distraction. Did she really just think that? "Did you need anything?" He continued, oblivious to her internal line of thought. Control yourself, you idiot.

"No, not particularly. I was… bored. Well, actually, if I'm being honest, I wasn't bored, I've just got too many things on my mind to really think properly, and I wanted something to distract me, and you seemed the easiest option because I saw you walking to the docks just then."

"A distraction, then. I've been told I'm good at those." He turned and beckoned her further along the dock. After a moment's hesitation, she followed.

He took a seat on one of the ever-present crates, and she took a spot on her own a few feet away.

"I've a question born of curiosity that I think you could answer." Atlas began without preamble, surprising her. It was what she asked for, though, so she wouldn't complain.

"Ask away, then." She shifted, attempting to find a comfortable position on the wooden box.

"From what I've gathered of the nobles here in Thedas, they're a fairly worrisome sort. Why haven't the Trevelyans come to march you out of here - or at least, make some public demonstration of some sort to show they're affiliated with you?" It was not a question she was prepared for, and she was really surprised that Atlas was the one to ask it. Actually, she was surprised that she hadn't already asked herself.

She opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut. Her brow furrowed and her gaze became unfocused as she thought about it. "I don't know." She said at last. "Maybe… well… I suppose they may not know I'm here. They might…" think I'm dead was what she was going to say, but it was so morbid she didn't really want to. "I don't know that we've really given everyone my name. I think most people just know that we've got someone they call the Herald of Andraste."

Atlas pursed his lips and nodded once. "Do you miss them?" He was looking at her intently, but she was staring off at the lake, musing over both the question and the fact that she hadn't intended to get into such deep thought when she'd walked over here.

It was really just her father and her brother in Ostwick. Her father was getting older, and her brother was the one who was going to inherit the Bannship. But things had never really been all that okay in House Trevelyan since Maxwell and Mother died. Even so… Landry and Father were all she had left. Landy moreso than Father, as much as she felt guilty to say.

"Yes." She answered. "Not so much that I'm going to take off to see them, but… yes." She looked back to him. "What about you? You've got to have family back in that far-off-land of yours." She affected a smile at what was hopefully a humorous comment.

Now it was his turn to look away in thought. He too smiled, but it was different; smaller, wistful. "Once upon a time, yes. It's just me now, I suppose." Oh. This was turning out to be a not-happy conversation. He didn't look offended, at least.

"What about your home?" She continued. She didn't want to ask him sad questions, but her curiosity compelled her to find out more about the mysterious stranger.

"I lived alone. My last home is in a forest, if you can believe it, though I promise I don't live in a hole in the ground." He smiled a bit wider and looked back at her, but a degree of that wistfulness wasn't gone.

"Oh?" She inquired, leaning forward and placing her chin on her hand. "Tell me about it." She wasn't sure how much she believed the 'far-off land' notion, but for the moment, she was perfectly inclined to simply listen to him talk.

"Well…" He began, reaching a hand up to stroke his chin, "it was something of an ancestral home. Built into a very large tree - I think the ancient elves might've had something like it, from what I've read of them." She tilted her head. She hadn't known that, but then, the Chantry didn't like having too much literature on the elves.

"This species of tree was ancient, you understand," he continued, "and of cultural significance. There were only a few left, and all of them were on the island on which I lived. Let's see…" He looked around, nowhere in particular, clearly racking his memory. "There were a fair few animals on the island, some very similar to your elk, while others were more similar to… hm. I think you'd call them lions."

"But not the same?" She inquired, now suitably enraptured.

"Oh, no. There were a few differences in looks, and I'm sure there internal organs were all different."

"Were they hostile?" She imagined living on an island like some stranded survivor in the stories, fighting against nature to survive.

"If you provoked them. I never did. I fed them, actually, on occasion. Not too often, though," he smiled here at some fond memory, "or they'd never leave you alone, begging for food all the time. There were other animals of course - plenty of birds, and insects, as are wont to exist in a forest of such sort. Some of them carved out homes in other, smaller trees."

"That sounds quite pretty." She said in earnest.

"Oh, you've no idea. When the sun would rise on a winter evening, the leaves on the tallest trees would shine silver. I think it had something to do with the frost interacting with the leaves, some kind of chemical interaction. In the other seasons, they'd be some shade of idyllic green." He smiled fondly. She felt like she was listening to some sort of storybook reading.

"Silver? I've never heard of any tree like that." She didn't quite know what else to say, but now she was more concerned with keeping him talking. It was indeed a very pleasant distraction.

"Like I said, chemical interaction. I looked at it some time ago, I was curious, but I can't remember the result of my research." His brow furrowed at this.

"So… you're some sort of scholar, then? In the midst of being a master swordsman and wandering stranger?"

He looked at her with a wry smile. "I dabble in a bit of everything, you'll find. Although I cannot write. The art of the word was always my brother's - he wrote poetry, songs, and played those same songs on various instruments, another thing I cannot do." She was unsure why he was being so open, but it was nice. When they'd travelled together, he was normally quite reserved, though always ready with a quip or dry remark. He and Solas had gotten along fairly well, actually, but Varric and even Cassandra had warmed up to him as well. He never really talked about himself, though.

"Ah, but that was a long time ago." He added quietly a moment later.

"You talk as though it were centuries ago, but you can't possibly be all that older than me." She teased, hoping to keep spirits up.

Another wry smile. "Looks can be deceiving."

"Oh? How old are you?" She raised a challenging brow.

"A gentleman never tells." He made the motion of zipping his lips.

"Rubbish. You just want to keep being mysterious." She continued, smiling.

"Ah, but you said you liked the mysterious act. So I shall in fact keep being mysterious." She blushed as she remembered the circumstances of her saying that, but with the cold, hopefully it wouldn't be noticed.

"I'll get it out of you someday. In the meantime, I'll keep my age from you as… revenge, or something like that." She made a show of stiffening and sticking her nose up in the air.

"I'm fairly sure I could just ask someone how old you are. I'm the mysterious one here; people know you." He sounded unbearably smug about this. Her mock-puffiness faded, and she went to pout.

"Rubbish." She muttered again, and crossed her arms to signify her feelings about this fact.

"You can't possibly be older than… hrm." He paused to appraise her, and she straightened under the scrutiny. She felt strangely vulnerable under his gaze, but couldn't bring herself to look away. "Twenty-eight." He pronounced.

"I'll have you know I am twenty-seven not and not one winter more." Which was entirely true. She fairly mature, but she'd not really gotten out much.

"Innumerable pardons, Lady Trevelyan." He said with mock solemnity, affecting a bow from his seated position. She laughed despite herself.

"Oh please, not you too. I get enough titles from… almost everyone else." Solas and Varric were the ones who most easily took to her dislike of titles. Cassandra was warming up to the idea. All of the Advisors still used some title, though Cullen seemed the most likely to avoid it if she talked to him.

"As you like then, Eden." He responded. She smirked.

"Do you have any fancy titles I can lord over your head?" She still knew so little about him. Was he some kind of nobility? Nobility usually didn't live alone. Nor did they know how to fight so well.

Atlas opened his mouth to respond and hesitated, which told him all she needed to know about his answer.

"You do!" She gasped in mock surprise. "Tell me all about them."

"Well…" He began, almost sheepish, "some of them aren't nice titles. And some of them you simply wouldn't believe." Which sounded to her like he was avoiding the question.

"Oh come on, you've got to tell me something about you. You already know loads about me." Quite unfair.

Again he hesitated, then sighed. "Very well. One of my titles was Lord Commander." She pulled a face. He raised a brow. "I said you wouldn't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you," not entirely truthful, "but that sounds quite important. Like a military role, as well. An important, high-ranking military role." Atlas had not struck her as a military man. Bits and pieces of his demeanour matched up, maybe, but not enough for her to stick the label on him.

"...Yes." He answered after a moment's thought. "I used to be a military commander. T'was a while ago." He said dismissively. She got the feeling he didn't want to go in-depth about it.

"You don't really like talking about yourself, do you?"

"Not particularly, no." He answered wryly.

"I'll get more out of you yet. You'll cave to my charms." She responded matter-of-factly.

"I suppose we'll find out. I'm quite stubborn, you see." He responded, just as matter-of-factly.

"So am I." There was a moment of playful tension as they stared at each other. She broke first, predictably, giggling a bit. Eurgh, she thought, I haven't giggled in years.

He himself chuckled, a deceptively warm sound. They lapsed into silence, looking out opposite directions to the landscape.

"You know," She said some several moments later, "we're probably going to have to go to Redcliffe to meet with the rebel mages. To see what they're on about. And, uh… I was approached by a mercenary. He wanted us to come to the Storm Coast to meet with his captain, and maybe employ them."

"Sounds exciting." He said simply, though he had a knowing look in his eyes.

"Would you like to come with? When we go? We've got some new people in the Inquisition and I heard you got back from a mission and it'd certainly be more exciting than going to Val Royeaux." She stopped herself before she went full-ramble mode.

Atlas exhaled sharply through his nose in amusement. "Yes, I would. I'll have to talk to Leliana to be sure she doesn't have any more missions for me, as you say. But it does indeed sound more exciting than Val Royeaux."

That brought a smile to her face. "How did that mission go? Leliana only told me that you were on one and that you'd somehow recruited a Warden in the process."

His smile fell a bit, and his expression became more neutral. "I'm glad Blackwall made it back. The mission went…" he paused, "poorly." Then he sighed. "I went with three of Leliana's people to talk with Blackwall in the first place, and then investigate the disappearance of some of her people."

"Oh… did you, er, find them?" She asked awkwardly, unsure of her wording. Considering his subtly but comparably significant change of mood, she was certain it was bad news.

"No, though we thought we knew what happened to them. On the way back, we were ambushed by Templars. The leader of the mission did not make it." His tone was clinical, and she suddenly felt like the warmth of earlier had vanished. Curse her for bringing it up. He was guarded.

"Oh. I'm sorry." She said earnestly. She wasn't sure what else to say. She dealt with bad news her own way, but she wasn't experienced with being on the other side of the proverbial coin.

"It could not be avoided." He affected a wan smile. "The other two on the mission were twins, and to my understanding, Rider raised them. I suggested Leliana take them off of active duty, and she agreed. They're staying in my cabin at the moment."

She blinked. "That was very kind of you. I also didn't know you had a cabin." From what she knew of Haven, space was fairly limited, and she'd also never seen Atlas except on the road or right where they were sitting - she'd never given much thought to him actually having a place there of his own.

"It fell to me by happenstance, I think. Commander Cullen refused it, and it went through a short line of people who also either refused or couldn't take it, and they gave it to me. It's just outside the walls, and it's fairly small." He offered a small shrug. She almost thought of saying something stupid, like 'You should show me sometime' but that was far too forward. And not appropriate. And he would certainly say no. She squashed that line of thought before she started blushing again.

"On a happier note, I'll be able to continue your lessons while we're traveling." She blinked in surprise. She'd almost forgotten about those lessons; generally, her talent was enough that she didn't notice any particular need to improve. On top of that, she usually had with her a group of very skilled individuals: Cassandra was a renowned swordswoman, Varric was a crack-shot with Bianca, and Solas had a particular grace with his staff she'd not seen anywhere else. They weren't exactly facing the most well-trained individuals in Thedas on a daily basis, so what she and her companions knew had sufficed.

"Of course." She answered. "I'd love to. We'll be leaving in, uh…" She frowned. She didn't actually know. "I'll get back to you on that. I'll send a messenger or something." She nodded in affirmation after a moment's thought.

"That sounds like a plan to me." He inclined his head. She realised she was running out of things to talk about and this conversation sounded like it was nearing its end anyway, so she stood.

"Well. I've probably got something to get done. Somewhere. Thank you for the distraction, Atlas." She said with a smile, alluding to the first part of their conversation.

"Of course, my Lady Trevelyan." He smiled a self-satisfied smile at what he probably thought was clever.

"Watch it," She said, though there was no venom in the words. When he said it, it didn't sound so bad. She turned away before she could be seen blushing again. She heard him laugh behind her, and she smiled as she walked away.

* * *

Atlas

He had not expected to find conversation when he'd walked to the dock. Excepting Leliana's assignment, he had gotten used in the days before that to no one approaching him when he was there. To be succinct, he had expected to brood over his thoughts. The mission had left a sour taste in his mind, and he had worried briefly over the fate of the twins after he'd returned. Leliana had actually been the one to bring up taking them off of active duty, though it might have been his insistence that cemented it.

He'd only arrived two mornings before last, and delivered his report shortly after arriving. The situation had left him in… not a bad mood, per se, but a mood that was less inclined to the more positive emotions. In moods like that, he occupied most of his time in silent contemplation.

Even so, when Eden had come to him, he couldn't help but acquiesce, though he wasn't sure why. Some of the things she brought up he'd very intentionally not thought about for some time. His family chief among them, but even now, he sought to squash that line of memories before he went back to brooding.

Despite that, the conversation had been almost entirely pleasant. He felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his natural resistance to the cold.

His mind drifted to the twins. When he offered them his cabin, they had declined, but he'd insisted. He had let them in, and then left them to their devices, only checking in to make sure they had their food and drink. He wouldn't need to sleep for another Thedosian day or two, so he'd not infringed, nor would he have even if he had to sleep.

He'd presumed they were the type to deal with their feelings and trauma on their own, and specifically with each other. The most he could do for the time being was give them a place to do so on their own terms. Still… he felt he owed them his help. Perhaps he felt responsible for Rider's death.

No, he did feel responsible. Perhaps that feeling was irrational, but people were like that. He'd promised over Rider's grave he'd help them. Those kinds of promises were important to his people. It used to be common during the burial of a loved one, but had fallen out of practice in centuries past; he himself still exercised the tradition, but his isolation meant he hadn't had to for some time.

He stood, took a breath, and started heading back towards the cabin on the outskirts. Most ignored him. For a brief moment, he made eye contact with Commander Rutherford. He acknowledged him with a nod, and was returned with the same, albeit after a moment's hesitation. Acknowledgment was a start, at least.

It didn't take terribly long to get the cabin, and it was certainly not a momentous trip. When he arrived, he simply knocked at the door. There was no response for a few moments. Then the door opened.

"Oh. It's you." He could place Flint's tone, so he wasn't sure whether it was disappointing, surprised, or apathetic. Flint simply turned around and went back into the cabin, leaving the door open. Atlas stepped inside, closing the door behind him to block out the cold.

Slicer looked up from her position on the bed. "Hullo." She said, in a similarly blank tone.

"Hi." He greeted simply. The cabin wasn't very large, so there weren't many places he could move further, and he didn't wish to infringe on the two's personal space. So he leaned against the wall instead.

"What do you want?" Flint said, sitting down. He had a book beside him on the table, and several books laying around.

"I was going to ask how you both were doing." It was a question he'd avoided any time he'd previously checked in, because he knew the question was the most tiring they'd receive from any well-wishers or sympathetic persons. Now, though, he was hoping his patience would pay off, and they might give the question consideration.

"If you don't wish to answer, that's alright." He added a moment later.

"Have you come to take the cabin back?" Slicer spoke up in a tone that was almost humorous, but more sarcastic than anything. The fact that she responded with something even resembling humour was a good sign - even if she'd avoided the question.

"No," he responded, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you both need it more than I do."

"Don't you sleep?" Flint said.

"Now and again. Do you?" He retorted.

A pause. "Now and again." He should've known better than to try and talk around another spy. He probably could, but it wasn't what he was after.

"Do you sleep well?" He persisted.

"Do you?" Slicer, this time. Atlas smiled wanly, but also affected a soft sigh.

"Sometimes." He responded truthfully. "I am concerned, you know."

"Don't know why. You've no reason to be. No reason to baby us, either." Flint said. They were falling into their usual habit of taking turns speaking. He wondered briefly if it was an unconscious habit or whether they planned it.

"I'm not trying to baby you. I'm trying to make sure you eat." He cast a glance to the nearby dresser which had two bowls on it. Stew was the meal of the day most days, and it looked like they'd finished theirs.

"We are." Slicer said.

He sighed again. They were building a wall between them and him. He couldn't blame them, but he wished it weren't so. "I'm not trying to baby you. I'm wondering how you're adjusting, and if I can help."

"You don't know what we're going through." Flint said.

"I do, in fact." He retorted. He didn't, not exactly; he'd never lost a father figure like they did. His father died a long, long time ago. But he'd lost plenty others in a similar manner. "And I know that I also turned to isolation. I'm glad you two have each other, but I just wanted to remind you that there is more than these cabin walls and grief." He glanced between them. They shared a look.

"D'you expect us to forget it happened and move on?" Slicer was sitting up now, and had crossed her arms.

"You'll never forget it." He responded bluntly. "Not entirely. But if you only ever stay in here, then all you'll ever do is remember it."

A few beats of silence. "What d'you suggest, then? Leliana told us we're on leave, it's not like we can take any assignments." Flint said indignantly. He'd not known Leliana had visited personally, but he was glad to know she had some concern for her agents.

"Getting out every now and then. It's not that cold outside, and who knows, you may even make - dare I say - friends if you tried." They both did their own version of a scoff, but didn't respond.

"Or… I could give you a release for some of that anger I'm sure you've been stifling. How long has it been since the both of you have sparred anyone?" He looked between them, brow raised.

They shared a look. "A while." Flint admitted after the pause.

"Training is a good way to distract yourself," he said knowingly. "And I'm certain I have a few things I could teach the both of you."

Slicer snorted. "You sound pretty sure of that, Blondie." He raised a brow and smirked at the nickname.

"I am."

Silence fell again, but it was short. "Fine. What time?" Flint said.

"Now." He said.

"Now?" Slicer said.

"Now." He affirmed with a nod. "Unless you're afraid of fighting someone new, of course." It was a classic and unimaginative taunt, but it worked, for he could see the both of them puff up at the affront to their pride.

"You're on, old man." Slicer spoke, swinging her legs around and off the bed.

"Old man?" Atlas laughed. "Bold. Very bold." Not to mention ironic.

"Yeah, yeah. Wait until we get to the sparring circle." Flint stood. It was a start. A very good start. He turned to head out the door.

* * *

 **woo. another 'un. getting back into the swing of ~7k words a chapter. maybe. i don't plan this stuff, that's just how it ends up.**

 **i hope you didn't mind the shift back to Atlas after Eden, and I certainly hope you aren't tired of him yet. the next chapter is going to be back to Eden. i'm gonna try and balance the two, and if the situation calls for it, i'll put it on some other PoV at some point.**

 **i think i had something else to say here but i forgot and if i remember i'll add it in later.**

 **if anyone's still reading this thank u and also pls review. if you've got something to say. even if it's just "Excellent!" or something (thank you Judy, you wonderful Guest, you. and also Nikkless. and Wolf Angel and Whirr and last but not least, the creatively titled 'Guest'. CorrosiveCourtesyCall if you're reading this i miss your reviews)**

 **k thanks bye**

 **~Exci**


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